Fall of the Green Wizard
by OctoberThirtyFirst
Summary: The first spell Harry uttered in Middle Earth brought him squarely under the gaze of Sauron. As the Green Wizard rises, so shall he fall. Slow build-up into powerful!Harry, no romance, Harry joins the fellowship.
1. Chapter 1

**Ch1.**

Harry tried to catch his breath behind a tomb stone, but it was no use. His heart was wild in his chest as the laughter of Voldemort and his Death Eaters echoed around the graveyard. He took a deep breath, peaked around to get an eye on the Cup. It was his only hope of getting out of here. Of getting Cedric out of here.

He ducked down just in time as a diffendo whizzed past and smashed a tree stump to slithers. Harry used the dust stirred up by the explosion to move to another cover, closer to the cup. But he could feel them moving closer. If they wanted, they'd be on him already. There were so many.

"He's mine! No one touch him," came Voldemort's order. "Oh Harry, come out Harry. Would you die cowering behind the dead? I thought a brave Gryffindor like yourself would rather stand."

Harry didn't move. He was keenly aware of where the cup and Cedric was. Cedric, felled, sprawled in the clearing they arrived in. The cup was still further away, kicked to the side by Wormtail. Harry gripped his wand, trying to ignore the sweat. Too far. He needed a distraction.

Pressing the tip of his wand to his lips, Harry closed his eyes. He summoned up his favourate memory. He could almost taste the cinnamon hot chocolate, feel the chill on his skin. It was the chill from an open window on Gryffindor tower. Late winter, when the first snow of the night was drifting down. Ron and Hermione cupping mugs with both hands, laughing into the fireplace as the three of them wound down after class. There no assignments, no threats, no responsibilities. It was true freedom.

Harry opened his eyes, the flames of the fireplace existing as a split second after image. "Expecto patronum," he whispered. And even though his voice was soft, he pushed every inch of the memory into the spell. The tip of his wand glowed a faint white, soft almost, then it burst out with the force of a surpercharged lumos. Pure white light flooded out from his wand and Harry scrunched his eyes shut even as he scrambled around the tombstone, stumbled, caught himself, and continued on a dash that would take him to Cedric.

Behind him, he heard cries of pain mixed with the faint, willowy whisper of a stag's bellow. It brought him scant seconds, but it was more than he had bargained for. He closed the last few meters on Cedric, the world a blur from tears in his eyes, burning from the light of his patronus, and dropped to his knees beside his friend. Harry flung out his wand.

"Avada Kedavra."

"Accio cup!"

His eyes widened, but there was no time to look. The cup smacked into his waiting hands as the jet of green hit the cup. Harry felt a pull in the base of his stomach as the cup warped, turned black, and started to crumble. The portkey! But he could feel something pulling him. Harry gripped Cedric's arm, and before Voldemort could cast another spell, they vanished, leaving only the dusted remains of the Triwizard cup in their place.

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Harry smashed into the ground hard. He sucked in a breath, mouth dry, and looked around him. He was dimly aware that he still had Cedric's arm in an iron grip and forced himself to let go. Dead, dead. His friend was dead. But Harry couldn't afford to give the other boy much thought.

The cup should have taken him back to Hogwarts. Out the front of the maze. But, as Harry turned around in a full circle, he knew that he was nowhere near the castle. All around him, stretching out for miles, was wetlands covered in knee high reeds, short twisted trees and wild flowers. The ground under foot was damp, squelching as Harry took a tentative step. A winding river flowed from a line of harsh mountains far off in the distance, opposite to which was hilly country.

Stranger still, it was early morning, and the air had the feel of spring.

Harry went back to Cedric, stared, unthinking at the other boy's open eyes. Harry blinked, unnerved, and closed Cedric's eyes. He shook his head. Where were they? Where had the cup taken them? Harry wiped his hands on his trousers and gripped his wand tight. He couldn't be sure this wasn't a Death eater trick. An illusion? A trap? But why, and to what purpose? He stayed crouched, peaking again at the land over the top of the reeds.

They weren't in Scotland, that much he knew. The weather was much too warm, especially this early in the day. And those mountains. There was a smattering of white on their peaks, he was sure of it. Harry cursed at his knowledge of geography. Perhaps a couple more years at a muggle school and he'd have a better guess as to where he was. But no matter, Hogwarts have taught him a couple of things too.

Harry held his wand flat on the palm of his hands. "Point me, north." The wand turned, and Harry followed it until the mountain range lay square to his left. Alright, then, that didn't help him much. He tried again. "Point me, Hogwarts."

This time, the wand didn't move an inch. Harry frowned. He turned, but the wand just turned with him.

"Point me, Albus Dumbledore." Some deal. The wand lay lifeless on his hands.

"Point me, England." Again, nothing.

Harry tried to starve off the oncoming panic. Maybe the spell had a distance limit. That would make sense, right? He didn't need to panic. Dumbledore and everyone else would be looking for him right now. They'd know something was wrong when he picked up the cup back in the maze and failed to reappear. The headmaster would know more ways of finding people than a simple point me. They'd get here in no time.

His arm and his leg was still hurting from his wounds. He'd have to wash the cut from Wormtail. Bandage it too. And there was nothing much he could do about his leg from the battle with the blast ended skewet. And then there was Cedric. Harry felt a stab of guilt. He'd left the other boy crumpled. It would have been extremely uncomfortable if… if he was alive. He righted Cedric so he was lying on his back, limbs resting by his side.

And now all he had to do was wait.

Harry was vigilant for the first hour. He kept an eye and an ear out for sounds of apparition. His wand was constantly in his hands, a stupefy on his lips. He summoned some water and cleaned his wounds. He stayed near Cedric.

The second hour was much the same, but with the gnawing worry. What was taking them so long? Did any even know that Voldemort was back? He needed to tell Dumbledore who all the death eaters were. He needed to get Cedric back.

The third hour was when the fatigue hit. As much as he wanted to continue his vigil, a bone-weary tiredness turned his limbs to lead. The quaint peacefulness of the place, filled only with bird song and the thin breeze through the reeds helped lull him into a state of drowsiness.

It was only when the reeds rustled beside him and a small green head peak out did Harry blink into alertness. He trained his wand at his feet, but his sudden moment made the creature retreat. Harry shook his head. He was jumping at the littlest things. Of course there was going to be a few small animals living in the grasses.

He heard a voice.

"No, no, no. Too big. Too big to be food. Scaring away all my prey. What are they doing in my territory?"

It sounded English to him, but Harry knew the tell-tale signs of palseltongue much better than when he first spoke to a snake. He cleared his throat.

"Excuse me?" Nope, still English. Harry grimaced. He knew he needed an actual snake, or at least a picture of one.

"What was that? Should have left. Better hide. It better not tread on me."

Harry spotted the hint of a green belly, coiling up between the roots of some reeds he'd stomped over before. That was enough. "Hello, hello, can you hear me?" The snake twitched, its tongue flickered out to dart at the air. It would have been amusing if not for Harry's nerves and his need to get back to Hogwarts.

"Yes, it's me. I'm talking. Up here," he said.

The snake uncoiled. The same green head poked out from the centre, and lifted itself up as if to get a better look. "Human? Impossible! This is-"

"Not impossible," Harry interjected. "I don't have time to explain. I'm lost. Do you know where we are?" And then he smacked himself in the face. What was he doing asking a snake where they were?

"Where? We're in my territory. Near the water edge and a short way away from the cricket breeding nest I savoured a few days ago."

"Never mind. Have you seen any people around? Like me?" It was a gamble, but one he was willing to take. He was getting nowhere by crouching in the reeds and it was not a proper place to leave Cedric.

"Like you? No, not as tall, not able to speak, either. Splashing around in the river, you'll find some there, most likely. But not my territory, no. I'll not go that way."

Harry lifted his head at the news. The river would be his best bet, then. He glanced along the water's length, but could find no evidence of habitation. He bent down to ask the snake some more questions only to find it gone. Well, he was better off than he was before. The sun was high up in the sky now, almost noon. He should get a move on.

So, with Cedric levitating low behind him, Harry made his way towards the river. He was taking a risk, that muggles would see him doing magic, but he didn't have the strength to carry Cedric, and he couldn't just leave him there. Cedric's ghost or wisp or whatever it was that came out of Voldemort's wand wanted to be brought back to his father. Harry had made a promise.

When he broke free of the reeds and stepped foot onto a rocky shore, Harry saw that his initial assessment was slightly incorrect. Although the banks were empty of people, there was a small boat tied to a post. And it was a small boat. Barely wide enough for Harry to sit comfortably, it didn't look like it could even take his weight. And Harry wasn't overly large or tall. It was a child's boat, if it wasn't a toy, although it looked so out of place in the middle of nothing.

Perhaps there was a town or some farms further downstream. If the snake said he'd seen people splashing about the river, then it mustn't be too far away. So Harry continued east, following the banks of the river, Cedric floating behind him. He'd only made a little headway before he rounded a bend in the river and spotted the huts in the distance.

Situated a dozen meters away from the water's edge and elevated on stilts so even the highest reeds couldn't brush the floor, three – no four huts stood. The fourth, which Harry had nearly missed, was a smouldering wreck. The walls of the other three were scorched in black, and the pier out front was similarly damaged.

A breath caught in Harry's throat when he caught sight of figures slumped against the huts and lying on the ground. They were scattered around. It was a carnage.

A cold sweat turned his hands clammy and Harry gingerly laid Cedric back on the ground. The peace and quiet of this place for the first time turned unearthly, and Harry shivered to think he'd sat unperturbed, unknowing what had happened here.

But it was quiet. And while the fourth, destroyed hut still smoked, the fire was long out. Whatever had done this had been and gone before the portkey brought Harry and Cedric here. But those people might not have been long dead. Harry snuck through the reeds, taking care to make as little sound as he could. Perhaps there were survivors.

He could smell the burning wood now, the acrid taste of ash, mixed in with something else that made him gag. Burnt flesh. Harry paused as he neared one of the huts. By one of the stilts lay the body of a man, ripped apart. Bile rose and Harry took several deep breaths as he averted his eyes. But he couldn't get the image out of his head. It was like a wild animal had attacked. He looked back. A single large gash ran from the man's upper chest to his hip. Harry could see the white of bone and coils of bowel. Not a survivor, then.

The snake had been right, though. Even slumped over and covered in gore as the dead man was, Harry could tell that he'd just barely rise to his waist. But this was no child. There was the hints of a beard splattered with blood, and the body of someone well versed to labour. Harry knew of conditions that could stunt someone like that, though none which caused such hairy feet.

The huts faced inwards on a central clearing, where a fire pit, along with some communal supplies were gathered. Among the baskets and drying racks lay yet more bodies. This time, although there were three more of the short, hairy-feet men, there was also another creature.

Blackened skin, vaguely humanoid with claws for hands and a mouthful of fangs. It had been run through with a metal spit and its face was still twisted in agony. Despite its hideous appearance, Harry felt something for the pain the creature must have been in. Then Harry saw the curved swords in the creature's hands, still stained with blood. They'd be a perfect match for the wounds the short men had sustained.

Harry felt his breathing quicken. What manner of creature was this? Where was he, that slaughter like this could be left unattended? All at once he realised he wasn't safe. Not in the slightest. And however much he wanted to help the people who'd been killed here… he wouldn't be of any use dead.

From behind him came the sound of metal sliding on metal. Harry jumped, spun around and raised his wand at… a man, middle aged, clad in leathers, hair greasy, and with one hand gripping the pommel of a sword tethered to his belt. The man eyed Harry warily, before glancing around at the dead around them. His face grew grim before flickering back to Harry. He barked out a question, but in a language Harry had never heard of.

Harry stepped back, still with his wand trained on the man.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "English?"

The man frowned and gestured harshly at the bodies around Harry. The question was harsher this time, and repeated in what seemed like several different languages, none of which sounded familiar.

Harry shook his head, his stomach sinking. His suspicions were only growing deeper. The languages were just another knock on the head. The portkey had been hit by Voldemort's killing curse. Who knows what happened to its enchantment. Who knows where it had taken him. This was not good, not good at all.

And now there was a man, staring at him as if he had killed these people himself. Harry lowered his wand, shook his head, frantic.

"It wasn't me. I don't know what happened here. Oh Merlin, you probably have no idea what I'm even saying." Harry cut off as the man took a step towards him. He must have shown his alarm, for the man paused, and slid his sword all the way into his sheathe. He took another step, this time with hands outstretched, open.

Another question came, gentler this time, but no less stern. Harry could only shake his head. "I don't understand. I'm sorry, I don't know. I don't even know where I am."

As if he didn't have enough to deal with, the heat of frustrated tears started to gather in the corners of Harry's eyes. This was all too much. All that had happened today, the third trial, the graveyard, Voldemort, Cedric. Then this whole place, with all this horrible death, and no way to get back to Hogwarts.

Mortified, Harry tried to wipe them away before more could flow but it was no use. He was fed up with it all. There was only so much he could take and still be the hero everyone wanted. He stumbled back, shouted incoherently when the man moved to follow, and ran back down away from the carnage and waded into the water edge. He splashed down, cupped some water in his shaking hands and splashed his face until his tears were done.

The man, thankfully, didn't follow. After a time, when he had gotten his breathing back under control, he dried his face and his clothes and went to where he left Cedric. He stared at the other boy for a moment, unable to help comparing the peacefulness of this death with the violence of the others. It was both more and less horrible at the same time. This way, in the dimming light of evening, Cedric could have easily been mistaken for asleep. Yet his death was just as final as that of men chopped to pieces.

Harry was sure, now, that he wouldn't be able to get Cedric home. He didn't think he'd manage to get himself home. But he pushed that thought away. He couldn't afford to dwell.

A crash from the huts made him turn. The man had stayed. Had dismantled the weakened huts for wood, and had set up a pyre. On the top he had laid out the bodies of the dead, nice and neatly in a row. Harry glanced back at Cedric. He wasn't sure what the other boy would have preferred, or what wizard customs were when it came to funerals.

Burial in this land wouldn't be very dignified, Harry thought. Digging a ditch and piling mud over his friend's body didn't sound like something he wanted to do. So Harry picked up Cedric's arms, cringing slightly at the coolness of his skin, and carried him on his back all the way back to the hut.

The man was waiting for him, gaze lingering on Harry's burden, but not saying a word. Harry glanced at him, then kept his eyes down as he carried Cedric to the unlit pyre. The other boy was heavy, and Harry's arms strained at the burden. The cut, forgotten until now, was a burning presence in the nook of his elbow. Harry focused on the pain for the last few steps until he came to the foot of the pyre.

"Could I, you know?" Harry said, gesturing as best as he was able.

The man leaned down and rearranged the bodies so there would be space for one more. Harry, with a shuddering sigh, partly in gratitude, and partly for his own aches, knelt and laid Cedric next to the others. He straightened and took them in, again, struck by how different they were in death. So strange, indeed, that the man touched his fingers to Cedric's wrist and chest, before pulling back, his face unreadable.

That night, the bodies burned.

In the light of the flickering flames, Harry looked over the stillness of the river and thought back to the way Cedric was, before. He said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He knew the other boy only from a distance, a popular Hufflepuff, the competitor for Cho's affections, and then more closely as a co-champion. He could do the other boy no justice.

When the man joined Harry by the river's edge, Harry though he saw some of the same sadness and helplessness.

"Aragorn," the man said, with a hand held up to his chest. He waved at Harry with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

Harry looked up at… Aragorn. He tapped himself. "Harry." Then, he turned back to the pyre. "Cedric," he said.

What use it was, telling the other man, Aragorn, the name of the boy burning to ash, Harry didn't know. But if it was as he feared, and he was in a different land altogether, he wanted Cedric's name known to at least one other.

Aragorn nodded, and clasped on hand on Harry's shoulder. They stayed there until the fires burned out in the early morning, and when Aragorn handed Harry a pack, Harry took it and swung it on his shoulders like the other man.

Then they travelled. Days passed as they walked south and in that time, Aragorn taught Harry his language. The words for tree, bread, danger, rest. Learning was slow, and frustrating, and Harry thought he'd never be able to ever explain his predicament. Not that he truly understood it himself. Even a week after his arrival, Harry couldn't shake the thought that perhaps this was all a dream, or that he had gone crazy in the graveyard, after Voldemort's cruciatus. But Harry didn't think his imagination was rich enough to generate the lands they passed through.

The first village they came to was a real eye opener. Squat stone buildings, none over a storey tall, with thatched straw roofs, the people worn but strong. The place reeked of fish and no wonder – from the windows of every dwelling strung fish in various stages of drying.

Aragorn swept his arms at the village. "Fieldell," he said. "Familiar?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said in Aragorn's tongue. "Never." The place was right out of the history books. Although strange as it was seeing a place surviving without modern essentials of electricity or magic, the people were still the same.

There was only one inn in Fieldell and it doubled as its only pub. The signage outside was of a bear with a fish tail sticking out of its mouth, done in exquisitely detailed paintwork compared to the dull-grey coating on the rest of the village. Aragorn pushed the doors open and lead the way inside.

The smell came immediately. Fresh bread, warm soup, salted fish, and a roast turning on a spit in the centre of the room. On the sides of the room were long tables and benches, and most of the places were filled. Men mostly, although there were a few families and children about. A handful of single tables were scattered to the corners. And Aragorn made a beeline for an empty one.

"Sit. Stay. I'll get food."

Harry did as he was told, letting his gaze roam around the patrons of the inn. If he could tune out the differences in language, clothing and, as he wrinkled his nose, smell, Harry might as well have been in the Leaky Cauldron on a busy Saturday night. People were talking, eating, laughing. For the first time after being thrown into this world, Harry felt himself beginning to relax.

Then Aragorn returned with two steaming plates and half a loaf of bread. The man set a plate before Harry and that was all he needed. After days eating the graining rations Aragon pulled from his pack, and washing it down with a handful of bitter berries picked from the wayside, the promise of hot food was a godsend.

"Thank you. Very good," Harry said and then he didn't look up until he had the plate clean. The dish was some sort of fish stew, though the meat was tougher in texture than the varieties Harry was used to. Tough but not unpleasantly chewy, and seasoned with a strange spice and plenty of salt. Piping hot, it settled well in his stomach and Harry wasted none of it, mopping up the last morsels with a piece of bread.

The next day, they continued south. Aragorn would say nothing of where he was going, although the man became more watchful the further they travelled. A few days from Fieldell, they came to the borders of a great forest.

"Mirkwood. Caution." Aragorn tried to describe the danger within the woods, but the words were too complex and without reference, Harry understood little. But watching the trees and the shadows, he thought he could imagine the dangers within. They made camp next to some boulders and within sight of the forest, Harry for the first time keeping watch. Hours passed as he stared into the trees but nothing stirred. Harry held his wand tight anyway, remembering vividly the slashes and the destruction. There were enemies out in the night and he wasn't likely to forget any time soon.

When the moon was high, and Harry was sure the other man was sleeping, he cast a notice-me-not charm over the camp. He couldn't swing a sword or use a bow, but he hoped his spell had the same effect on monsters as it had on humans. But the weariness of several hard days trekking cross country took a greater toll than Harry realised and he soon found himself nodding to sleep.

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He was shaken awake, an agitated Aragorn looming over head. Harry blinked, his eyes widened, but before he could get an apology out, the ranger slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Quiet," Aragorn hissed. "They don't see us yet." He made sure Harry understood before withdrawing his hand.

Harry felt along the ground for his wand, cursing that he let himself fall asleep. An inhuman screech sent shivers down his spine. He turned wide eyes to Aragorn.

"Black riders. We must run. There are too many to face alone," Aragorn said. "To the Mirkwood. There will be cover behind the trees." The man's face was drawn, his blade unsheathed. In the light of the nearly full moon, it glinted deadly sharp. Harry grabbed his pack and kicked over the remains of their camp fire.

The screech came again, this time accompanied by the thudding of hooves. A black rider, Aragorn had called them. Fear chilled him to his bones, fear of something he didn't have a name, something that produced a sound that filled him with dread.

"Come, quickly!"

Impossibly, the forest which Aragorn had warned him against in the day was now meant to be their haven. The two of them ran, hunched, doing the best to muffle the sound of their packs. Aragorn fiddled with something in his arms, a long stick and a roll of cloth, but he didn't slow.

Behind them, the clatter of hoover paused. An echoing neigh ran through the night. Harry looked over his shoulder as he ran and caught a glimpse of a dark horse, reared up, with a rider cloaked in black robes. A dementor! To its side were two more. There were three of them.

"They've seen us!" Aragorn said as he ran. "Take this. Fire is our ally if they get near."

But not dementors, Harry realised as he accepted a make-shift torch. They weren't in his world. But perhaps the same spell could be of use. Or, as he smelled alcohol soaked into the torch, fire might work too.

They had just passed the first trees when the riders was upon them. Aragorn whirled around with his sword, shouted a word with a strangely beautiful cadence, and the riders paused. The Ranger threw a small bundle to Harry who snatched it out of the air.

"Flint. Light them!" Aragorn raised his sword, ready. But there were three, and Aragorn was on foot.

Harry looked at the satchel before dropping it to the ground. Flint? Was he a wizard or wasn't he? Any reservations he had about showing his magic faded with the danger they faced. He pointed his wand to the tip of his torch.

"Incendio!"

Fire, glorious fire, spurted out from the tip of his wand. A small explosion rocked his arm as it made contact with the alcohol on his torch, and for a moment, Harry felt the searing heat burn through his chest and face. The fireball burned the wooden handle to a smouldering stub.

He coughed to clear his lungs of smoke and became acutely aware that two of the riders had swerved past Aragorn and were heading straight for him. Aragorn too, caught by surprise, stared at him, eyes wide and bright in the aftermath of Harry's spell. The man mouthed a word, something akin to confusion on his face, but Aragarn stalled for only a split-second. The man turned around, deflected a blow, and swung at one of the two riders charging towards Harry. The horse screamed and toppled, sending the rider crashing to the ground. But there was still one coming at Harry, sword a thin, deadly sliver of metal.

Harry raised his wand and dropped the remnants of his burnt torch.

"Incendio!"

He scored only a glancing hit as the horse twisted out of the way. The sleeve of the rider caught fire, and another inhuman shriek filled the air. Harry turned to aim again, but Aragorn's barrelling form smashed into him from behind and knocked him to the ground. A sword swung by overhead and Aragorn rolled over, sword raised to send the blade of the rider careening off-course.

Harry rolled over as well, wand stabbing up. "Incendio!" He blasted back one of the riders, giving them enough time to get back onto their feet and make some headway into the forest.

His feet flew over the roots, stumbling as they grew dense. A branch whipped past his face, obscuring his view for a scant second, enough to send him crashing to the ground. Aragorn hauled him back up and the hissing shrieks from behind them urged them both into a faster run.

For a dozen racing heart beats, they ran unchallenged. The neighing echoed back in the distance. They must have dismounted. It was faintly thrilling, knowing that they were losing the riders. Then his foot twisted, sinking further into the undergrowth than Harry expected. A cry caught in his throat as Harry slipped on the loose earth. He grabbed out, pulled Aragorn with him as they tumbled down a sudden drop in the forest floor.

He landed on something soft, something soft and writhing.

"Enemies! Danger, protect the den."

A scaled head rose up, baring four sharp fangs. Around the snake rose several more. Unlike the snake he met in the wetlands, the ones around them were as thick as his thigh. Aragorn sucked in a sharp breath, scrambled to grab his sword, but the sharp movement sent more snakes rearing up.

"No!" Harry hissed. "Don't attack us, please. We mean no harm." He reached over and pushed Aragorn's sword arm down.

The snakes shuddered, heads waving, uncertain. There must have been half a dozen, but it was difficult to tell where one snake started and another ended. "It speaks. Speaker. A human speaks? Strange. What do we do? This is new." So many voices, impossible to count.

"You're talking to them? Who ar- nevermind" Aragorn shook his head and glanced around them, wildly. "The forest slows their horses but the riders will come. We must hide."

Harry nodded. "We're terribly sorry for disturbing the den. There is evil behind us. Danger to all. Please, hide us."

"Hide? Evil? Yes, let's hide the speaker. Den, hide the speaker." The snakes moved as one, shifting, rising as a wave.

Aragorn stiffened beside Harry but the wizard kept his grip on the Ranger's arm. "Trust. We hide," Harry hissed. At the look on Aragorn's face, he cleared his throat, focused, and repeated himself in Westron.

"Hide the speaker. Away from the evil. Hide the speaker."

As the snakes converged on them, Harry struggled to keep himself from panicking as well. He pulled Aragorn down and they crawled into a large hollow in the roots as the snakes covered them. Cool, scaled bodies coiled loosely around his legs, his waist, his chest. A glance to his side showed Aragorn in obvious distress, although he allowed himself to be similarly restrained. Harry gulped. He still held his wand. He might manage enough wrist movement to get a diffindo out, if the snakes turned on them. But while the snakes didn't intentionally clamp around Harry, the weight of the den was enough it made movement near impossible. He didn't want to chance a backfire with a wrong wand movement.

Through the slithering flesh, Harry could see glimpses of the forest canopy, but only just. They would be totally hidden. No sooner, too. As the hisses died down, Harry could hear rustling movement through the underbush.

As the rustling drew nearer, colour leached out from their surroundings and dread returned to Harry's heart. Their cover was not enough, not nearly enough and while a diffindo needed to be sharp and precise, the notice-me-not charm was a fair deal simpler. Under his breath, Harry muttered the incantation.

The words had only just left his mouths when the dark rider shrieked. The den hissed in wordless alarm but that must have drawn the rider's attention further.

Curse it, how did they hear him?

From far off, two other shrieks echoed back, responding to the call. They'd been found. Hiding was no good anymore, they had to get up. Fight, or run. The snakes shivered around them. Harry could feel their bodies tense. They must feel the dread from the rider as well.

"Evil comes. Protect the eggs. Strike at the enemy!" A set of voices hissed.

"The speaker? Protect the speaker?" Came another set.

"Forget the speaker. The eggs are our own. Strike!"

The weight of the snakes started to ease. Above, the rider shrieked. Harry rolled over as he was released by the den and pushed himself to his knees. The snakes covered the forest floor so completely and so thickly it was like the earth itself had come to life. The size of their den was enough to give the rider pause. But only briefly. The rider's slashed its sword as the first of the snakes struck, lopping off the head.

Harry winced, trying to find an opening for an incendio but Aragorn's shout of alarm brought him around. The ranger engaged with a second rider as it came flying out from the trees. Harry scrambled to the side, over the scaled bellies of the snakes, trying to get a vantage point for a shot.

A whisper came through the trees and a vision of an eye, wreathed in fire, burned into his mind.

_"Harry Potter."_

The breath caught in his throat. What was that? He couldn't focus. All he could see was the eye, all he could hear was the voice. Harry blinked, and the flaming eye disappeared, only to be replaced by the shadow wreathed black rider, lunging at him with sword outstretched. As his senses returned, Harry could heard the echoing screech, mixed in with Aragorn's warning cry.

Harry's eyes widened and he started to raise his wand, a spell on his lips, but a wave of dread and fear came before him in the wake of the rider.

Then the sword slashed down and Harry instinctively raised his arm. The sword hit his wand, broke through it like it was merely a twig. A sharp, bewildering pain stabbed at Harry's chest. His wand! His holly wand! And then, with no time to recover, a second pain, deep in his thigh. This time, it was icy chill, a poison that spread the moment it made contact.

Harry crumpled as the rider yanked his sword out. All he knew was the red eye and the fell voice in his ear. Another voice, familiar but faint, yelled into the night. Through bleary eyes, Harry watched as the rider who struck him sheathed his sword. A glowing, skeletal hand reached out.

And then the trees came alive. A new voice called out orders and the undergrowth peeled back to reveal a sleek pack of wolves, their eyes bright and teeth bared but not at Harry. The leapt, their paws finding the cloak of the rider and pulled him away from Harry.

The chill in his leg had started to creep. Harry shut his eyes, pained and weary and clutched a shaking hand to his wound. Then all went black.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;chapterend&amp;&amp;&amp;**

**AN: haha.. uh. Well, yeah. So I'm meant to be working on some original work, but after reading a couple awesome, awesome fics, I couldn't resist. A versions of this this story has been lurking in the planning phase for years now. Years. And I've always wanted to do a hpxlotr fic. They seem to fit so well together. So anyway. Tell me what you think! **

**31st**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch2.**

Harry woke covered in a cold sweat. A rough cloth covered his body, but it offered nothing in the way of warmth. He blinked, and groaning, pushed himself up from the straw bedding. Soft light drifted in from frosted windows into the interiors of an unkempt cottage. The walls were stone, though overgrown in many places and cracked with the roots of vines and creepers. A large wooden table took up most of the centre, cluttered with books and glasses and bowls of dried leaves and flowers. In the corner was a fireplace and a cooking pot, both cool.

It reminded Harry of Hagrid's hut, though instead of Fang, there was an abundance of small, wood creatures, all existing in apparent harmony.

Harry spotted a rabbit, curled up on the firewood, its ears between its paws, and next to it, snuffling around a woven basket was a fox. Several birds, all of different hue and shape dotted the rafters and a family of squirrels had taken residence on the windowsill.

None of this detracted from the ache on his right thigh, where the black rider had cut him. Harry peeled back his thin sheet to reveal it had been bandaged. White fabric bound several leaves to his wound. The leaves were stuck together with some sort of paste, greenish in colour, and giving off a lingering scent. It wasn't unpleasant, but very pungent and earthy.

His skin around the wound was cold, numb and rubbery to the feel. Along the cut of the wound was only pain.

Harry touched it, shivering, and tried experimentally to lift his leg. A sharp jolt of pain left him breathless and light headed. No moving for now, then. That wasn't good. Without magic, who knows how long his leg would take to heal.

That was another thing. Harry blinked dully down at his lap, gripping his sheet in both hands. He didn't have his wand any more. It had been with him so long. His wand, holly with Fawkes' feather, the same one that matched Voldemort's, the same one that pulled out the ghosts of his parents. Even thinking about it brought a thick lead feeling in his stomach. He remembered the pain from when the rider sliced through it as his magic itself rebelled against the break. He looked around, searching for the pieces. Perhaps he could fix it, stick the two ends together like Ron did in second year. But they were nowhere to be found.

If his leg had been bad news, being without magic was something worse yet. Without his wand, he was ordinary. Worse than ordinary. He didn't know the language, he didn't know what in Merlin's name the riders had been. He couldn't protect himself. He wouldn't be able to get home.

His hope lay in Aragorn. The man had helped him, given him food, allowed him to travel together, fought against the riders, even risking his own skin to help protect Harry. In the short time that Harry walked with him, the man had proven a valuable companion. Harry suspected he himself was something of a burden, except when he let loose with his magic. What did the man think of that? Did this world have wizards of their own? A chill ran down Harry's back and the memory of a voice echoed in his ear.

The door to the cottage opened, squeaking on rusted hinges and in stepped a strange old man with a gnarled staff. Not Aragorn, as Harry had expected, but although the man was a stranger, Harry didn't feel threatened. He was bent over, dressed in dull brown rags, and with a trail of dried bird droppings down one side of his face. He lifted his pointed hat, revealing a matted nest of hair and gently reached up to pull out a handful of small eggs ensconced within.

Harry was sure the man must have noticed him, sitting up, but his attentions were firmly on the eggs. The man moved with a shuffling motion, so as to not disturb the animals resting in his way, leaned his staff against the doorway, and placed the eggs in a cloth lined bowl on the edge of the table. It was only then that he glanced down at Harry.

"Awake, are we?" the man said. An excited grin grew on his face and he shuffled over with alarming speed. "Good, good. Look what I brought you." He offered Harry the bowl of eggs, with an eager tilt of his head.

There were five in total, each about half the size of his fist, coloured a mixture of stone-grey and a deep purple.

"Thank you?" Harry said, stumbling over his Westron. "I- breakfast?"

The old man's eyebrows shot up behind the brim of his hat. He snatched the eggs away, and let loose with a barrage of words with a scowl. Harry caught only a couple words, not enough to make sense of the man's anger, but it was obvious the eggs weren't for eating. Or maybe he had gotten the word for breakfast wrong.

"Sorry," Harry said, lifting his hands. "I don't- My Westron. Very poor."

The old man bit out another harsh word at him before visibly taking a breath to calm himself. It was only then that Harry realised the animals in the cottage had all, as one, turned to train their attention on them. As the old man relaxed, so did the animals return to what they were doing before.

Had this man some sort of control over the animals?

"Sorry," he said again but he didn't have time for whatever this old man wanted. "Where is Aragorn?"

The old man blinked. "Who?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "A man. With me?" Aragorn wasn't dead, was he?

"Ah, him. He's gone. Left days ago."

Harry stared. Gone? Days ago? How long had he been asleep? Why did Aragorn leave him here with this crackpot old nature-lover?

The old man raised his eyebrows before he turned away, cutting the conversation short. He shuffled over to the rabbit on the firewood and crouched down to scratch between its ears.

Harry opened his mouth. And closed it again, scowling down at his leg. He gritted his teeth and tried to move it again. Maybe if he could force through the pain, he'd be able to get up, catch up to Aragorn somehow. He bit back a snort. There was no way he could keep up with such an injury, but nor did he want to stay with this crazy old man either. Not that he was ungrateful. It looked like this cottage was his, and maybe the healing cream was his work too. Harry looked the man over again. Alright, so maybe the old guy wasn't so bad.

Speaking of which. "Who are you?" Harry asked.

The old man gave no indication of having heard him. Still crouched, he was mumbling something to that rabbit. The rabbit seemed to be listening. Then with a snap of the fingers, the rabbit shook itself, leapt up a small cabinet and escaped through the half open window. Harry watched it go with something bordering on awe.

There was definitely something going on here.

"Who? Oh, well, I suppose you can call me Radagast. Radagast the Brown," the old man said. "Been a while since I had to introduce myself," he said with a bemused smile.

Harry nodded. Brown was right. Every inch of the man was brown. He was overall very much an earthy type. He cleared his throat. "Radagast. When Aragorn be back?"

"Don't know," Radagast said. By the tone of things, he didn't much care either. The man busied himself ruffling through a set of drawers, pulling the top one open before slamming it shut, then going to the second one, before back tracking again to more carefully peruse the first. Radagast mumbled under his breath, one word over and over again, before he made a satisfied noise and pulled out a tattered grey pouch.

Harry bit his lip and tried to find the correct words for his next question. "The riders? Away?"

All he got was an annoyed look as the man hunched over the bowl of eggs with the pouch. Radagast tugged the drawstring loose before carefully tipping some of the contents into his palm. It looked like red sand but Radagast hissed as they touched his skin and hastily drew the bag shut. Then, cupping both hands together, he let the sand trickle over the eggs.

Nothing special happened, but the man nodded, satisfied. Radagast looked up. "Riders? I chased them out. You've Fluffsy to thank for that."

"Fluffsy?" Harry asked, rolling the word around his tongue. Then the old man's words registered. "_You? _Chased?"

"Oh yes. I won't sit and ignore it when my friends are killed. I don't take kindly to those who would eat my friend's children either," Radagast said with a pointed look at the eggs.

"Oh," Harry said as he realised what those eggs were. The snakes that had helped him and Aragorn had attacked the rider. That was the last Harry remembered of them. "They. All dead?"

Radagast dipped his head and took a shuddering breath. "Yes they are," he said. The care with which he brushed the eggs told Harry he really did feel their loss. "Tacrines are loyal upon all else, to each other and to their children. One would not allow another to be harmed without doing all it can to prevent it. Alas, the ring-wraiths are too strong a foe for such a young den. They threw themselves into the fight, hoping their eggs would be spared." Radagast looked up. "A fight you drew them to. You bought their evil here."

The cottage grew dark. Shadows crawled out from Radagast's feet and the man became larger and grander than anything Harry had ever felt, beyond even Dumbledore or Voldemort. A terrible power pressed down on Harry, making him gasp for breath, one that could easily have crushed him. But it did not. He didn't know how he had mistaken Radagast for an old man.

As the pressure eased, so did Radagast back into his guise. Harry swallowed and pushed himself back up from where he'd shrunk into the bedding.

"But you wouldn't have known. You sought out the trees for their protection" Radagast said, hunched over again. Brown, again. "Still, I would have cast you out along with them if not for the way the Tacrines welcomed you into their kinship. Even I had to spend several long months gaining their trust." The not-man peered over at Harry. "Tell me, how did you do it so easily?"

Harry licked his lips. "I asked." He'd seen Radagast talk to that rabbit. Surely he'd have the same skill with snakes? Whatever that not-man was, he had a great affinity with animals.

"Asked?" There was a sharp glint in Radagast's eye. "You spoke to them? They answered back?"

"I… yes."

Radagast stilled, his eyes widened and then the biggest laugh burst out from his chest. The not-man started into a dance, kicking his heels up uncaring as he sent his animals sculling under stools and benches for shelter. "Oh blessed day, what a marvellous gift you've given me." He dissolved into a language that wasn't Westron and continued singing his praises, laughing between words before he suddenly skidded to a halt. "Wait right there," he said to Harry. "I'll be back. I have to test this out!"

Then he was off, the door of the cottage swinging shut behind him, and Harry was left alone, slightly wide-eyed. That was a different reaction than what he usually got when people discovered his parseltongue. But it figures that someone like Radagast would be excited. An excited Radagast was much preferable to an angry one.

And perhaps that excitement would lead to Radagast's goodwill. Perhaps Harry could find a way back home after all. Who was he to say what Radagast could and could not do, especially after that display of power earlier. Harry didn't know how, but even without summoning storms or felling giants or bringing the dead back to life, he knew without a doubt that there was power in his healer.

Radagast returned before Harry could do much more than poke idly at his leg. With him, as evidenced by the agitated hissing, was a snake. It wrapped around the man's fingers, trying to find a route away, but Radagast was careful to transfer it from hand to hand.

"What is this, where have you brought me? Let me down at once!" came a tinny of a hiss. Quite a young one. Still small.

Radagast gingerly held it out to Harry. Offered it, even. "Go on, talk to it. Calm it if you can." The snake was a faint blue in colour, barely as thick as Harry's thumb.

Harry shuffled over, mindful of his injured leg. Even the slightest bump sent shivers of pain up his spine. He leaned over, hovering just outside of striking distance.

"Hey, little one," Harry said. He Radagast as the man leaned in. The snake perked up, its head bobbing as it looked in one of Harry's eyes and then another.

"Sorry, we didn't meant to startle you," Harry said. "You're safe. The other man just want-"

"You speak!" the snake said, rising up a full half of its body to stare at Harry. Then it ducked down, embarrassed. "I interrupted. Apologies, speaker. You were saying?"

Harry grinned. "The other man just wanted to see if I was telling the truth or not. He was quite as surprised as you when I said I could speak."

"Well of course you can. We're talking right now, aren't we? Is that human causing you any trouble? I could bite him for you. I didn't earlier because I was afraid he'd fall over and crush me. That oaf."

Harry bit back a snort. Radagast leaned closer, watching in fascination. "What is it saying? What are you saying?"

"He didn't like being picked up. I said you wanted to test me."

Radagast raised his eyebrows. "Fascinating. Ask him something else. Like what does it eats."

Harry relayed the question back to the snake.

"Anything I can catch. I caught a flying worm one day ago. It was very fast. I was very proud. I'll be eating more of them from now on."

And then relayed the answer back to Radagast. Harry was feeling a little put off with all this back and forth, when all he really wanted to do was ask after his broken wand. Radagast was insistent though. His eyes lit up and he nodded along.

"Ask if the flying worm had scales on its back or if it was soft and squishy. I could narrow things down just a little more."

Harry sighed and hissed Radagast's ridiculous question back to the snake. And then, for the heck of it, he asked the snake its name.

"Name? I'm me. My nest mates called me the third born, or green-tuft after my colourings. That had been enough."

Indeed, the snake had a faint streak of green running down its nose, shaped so it looked bordering on fur.

"Green-tuft it is, then," Harry agreed. "I don't suppose you saw two… sticks?" Harry cut off, realising how ridiculous he sounded. "Special sticks, I mean. They'd be smoother and straighter than twigs or branches, about this long, this thick. One end would be something of a handle, the other thinner and tapered."

Green-tuft didn't look much impressed. "Two sticks? Perhaps. Tell me, human speaker, have you seen two trees in the forest?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, sorry. Stupid question. So, where are-"

"Well, what did he say? Crunchy or soft? I want to make sure I get the right food for our new friend," Radagast interrupted, a stern look on his face.

"Food?" Harry asked. "Keep Green here?"

"Of course! How else are you going to teach me to speak to him and the other snakes? That was going to be our deal. I even got you these eggs to trade! And healed your wound. Probably saved your life as well. It's not too big a price to pay, now is it?"

Harry blinked. He didn't even know if parseltongue could be taught. It just came so naturally to him, he didn't know if it was magic or some innate skill. The hisses had to be made a certain way, and the differences in inflection was so precise Harry suspected any endeavours at teaching the language to a non-speaker would be long and tedious.

"Never taught before," Harry said, frustrated he didn't know more words. "You seen my... stick? Special." He frowned. "When black horse man attacked."

"Not a problem. I've never healed someone stabbed so deeply with a Morgul-blade before, but you're doing quite well." Radagast paused, then looked closer into Harry's eyes. "Strange. Does your healing abilities come from the same source as your fire?"

Harry edged back, wary of Radagast's sudden intensity, and bit his lip at the pain the movement caused in his leg.

"Was this stick an artefact in your possession?" When Harry still didn't answer, Radagast stood. "Decide now or never if you trust me, boy. I've healed you and kept you in my shelter. I give you my word I want nothing from you but your skill with the snakes. But in return, I must be sure you are not a creature of the darkness, that you bear no ill will to me or my friends."

Harry's eyes widened. "I'm not dark! Never dark. Never." He gripped the sheets, setting his mouth into a stern line. He ached to climb to his feet, challenge the old man eye to eye, if not word for word.

Radagast seemed unmoved. "Perhaps," he said, running a hand through his beard. "Perhaps you tell the truth, yet my powers lie with the animals and plants of this world. Not that of men. Perhaps you are as you say. In any case, I am satisfied you tell the truth about your snake speech. Teach me, and do no harm to those around you and you'll continue to receive my care. Your leg still pains you, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded and scowled. "How do I know you are not dark?"

"So you are capable of talking in complete sentences? Me? I don't give two hoots about all that. My brothers would be more inclined to the ways of the free creatures. I? I am Radagast the Brown. My place is here. Now, enough talking. I shall make up another poultice, and you shall teach me to talk to Greeny here."

Radagast nodded down at Harry's lap where the small snake had spooled up. Green-tuft didn't seem interested at all in the human talk, but, sensing Harry's gaze, lifted his head up and flicked out his tongue.

Harry held out a hand and the snake obediently climbed up and curled around his fingers.

"Mmm, much warmer," Green-tuft hissed.

Harry pushed himself back so he leaned against the wall of the cottage and watched as Radagast busied himself retrieving items from chests and baskets and little cubby holes around the room.

"I hope you'll protect me against the creatures in here," Green-tuft said, flicking his tail against the inside of Harry's wrist. "I can feel them watching me. Sizing me up. Much better to be hidden away, someplace dark and warm, where prey is smaller and more numerous."

With a wary glance around the room, Harry shifted so the snake would be hidden from the larger birds in the rafters. "You can crawl up my sleeve if you're afraid," he hissed. "It'll be safer. The birds won't attack me."

"That is a good idea, speaker. Be wary yourself."

Radagast came over with a wooden bowl half filled with the same pungent green paste hat was dressing Harry's leg. "Those will have to be washed," he said, nodding to Harry's bandages. "Unwrap them and use them to smear this on your wound. Don't use your hands. What's the word for hello?"

Harry blinked. He snuck a look at Green-tuft. "Hello," he hissed. The snake peaked his head out of Harry's sleeve.

"Yes?"

"Don't worry," Harry hissed. "The old man wants to be taught to speak. You can ignore me."

Radagast twisted his mouth, pursed his lips, and made a try for the correct hiss. It sounded like… a human trying to hiss. Harry shook his head. "Hello," he hissed again. Radagast's second attempt was no better than his first. Harry hissed the same word again and again, as he started up on unbandaging his leg.

It was painful work, having to pass the bandage underneath his knee every time, but as the layers disappeared, Harry started to worry about the expanse of black skin that was being revealed. The final layer of leaves, coated with the green paste peeled back and Harry stared in horror at his wound.

The actual cut was smaller than he expected, but like Radagast said, it was deep. The sword must have stabbed right down, probably to the bone. It was an angry red, the edges of his skin hadn't yet come together and it felt chilled as ice when exposed to the air. The skin around it was dead black, hardened and glossy.

"The wound from a Morgul-blade heals poorly, if at all," Radagast said. "If you had not been brought to me, it would have eaten through you whole body, made you like them."

Harry realised he'd stopped with his parseltongue. A shiver ran down his spine. There was no mistaking what Radagast had meant. Like them. The black riders. With their black cloaks, and inhuman shrieks.

But his leg didn't look anywhere near healed. It didn't look like it was ever going to heal. "How long?" Harry asked.

Radagast didn't answer. The old man held out the bowl of green salve. Harry stared at him, the soiled bandages crumpled in his hands.

Radagast sighed. "You'll likely walk again, if that's what you're asking. Anything more I cannot say. The pain will likely remain. There is damage I cannot heal."

Harry stared at him for a moment more before using the bandages to scoop up some of the green salve. "Will the pain lessen?" He asked.

With a shrug, Radagast placed the bowl beside Harry. "Perhaps," the man said. "Perhaps you will have to get used to it instead."

As Harry coated the length of his leg in the salve, he started to feel the icy chill retreat. He breathed out, finding it easier now, and brushed cold sweat from his forehead. The air had returned to the gentle warmth of spring. Radagast took the bandages, dumped them in a barrel of water across the room and returned back to Harry's side.

"It must dry for a few minutes. In the meantime, continue. I think I'm getting closer."

Harry nodded. Then he crossed his arms. "My stick," he said. He wasn't going to let this go, not if Radagast had any knowledge he could give him. And should the man press about why he was so interested in a stick, then Harry'll just have to explain to the best of his ability.

"I saw no stick. None special, anyway. In any case, sticks come and go as they please under the trees. Perhaps I used it for kindling. Perhaps a crow has taken it to build its nest. You say it is special, so I ask again. Is this stick of yours an artefact of power?"

Harry bit his lip. Radagast was right. He'd been out for days. Who knows what manner of creatures had passed by the Tacrine's den. He had to get out there as soon as he could. Harry didn't like the thought of leaving his wand out in the forest floor. He had summoned his wand once, with pure intent. Perhaps he could do the same again.

Radagast was still waiting for his answer, but Harry didn't know what to say. "Power, yes. In me. Create, change. Not dark. The stick helps." He shook his head. "No words. Not yet." He didn't even know if there were words in Westron for what he needed. Was there magic, wand, alternate dimension? It was frustrating, possibly more than being confined to his little spot on the ground.

Moving anywhere of his own volition would have to wait until his leg healed. Talking properly and asking the questions he wanted to ask would have to wait until he became more fluent. Both of those things depended on Radagast's good will.

So Harry continued to hiss a hello to Green-tuft, and continued listening to Radagast's complete bastardisation of parseltongue. The day grew long, and beside a short break to bandage his leg, the cottage was filled with hisses until the word started to lose all meaning, and sound like a foreign language even to Harry.

As the sun sat low, shining through the frosted windows, Green-tuft started to voice his complaints. "I don't believe that oaf would ever learn to speak. It was amusing, for the first dozen attempts. I don't believe I can stand this much longer, speaker. I'll leave by myself and fight off the predators as best as I can if you do not take me away."

With that, the parseltongue session was done for the day. Harry convinced Green-tuft to stay, and begrudgingly, the snake complied. Radagast made up a steam hot soup, and Harry didn't much mind the taste. It was a nice counter balance to the chill that had returned to his leg and as he ate, it took away some of the worries he'd been mulling over during the day.

As the light dimmed, Radagast lit two of several candles dotted around the room. The man took a seat by the cluttered table and pulled some sheets of paper close. Then he ignored Harry and started to write, mumbling to himself. Harry ran one finger down Green-tuft's back, and in the flickering of the candles, drifted off to sleep.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;pagebreak&amp;&amp;&amp;**

The next day dawned much the same. Harry woke to an aching stiffness in his right leg, an ache that never quite disappeared through the morning. There was another change of salve, further parseltongue teaching, this time alternating between several words, and instruction for Harry not to move. Harry talked to Green-tuft as he fed him some of the worms Radagast dug out from outside, and learned that 'he' was instead a 'she,' a female snake.

"It should have been obvious, speaker!" Green-tuft hissed in amusement. "My patterns are quite characteristic for a female of my kind."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course. You're right, I've been unobservant," he hissed. "Although how good are you at picking up human genders, I wonder?"

Green-tuft flicked her head. "Why would I be interested in something like that? Humans are rare enough in the forest, rarer enough to be worthy of attentions such as yourself, speaker."

"Call me Harry."

"Yes, speaker."

Radagast watch all this, listening closely even as he tended to his plants. The vines that grew into the walls, the prickly stems poking out of the ground were all watered and cared for. The cottage wasn't overgrown or unkempt, as it appeared, but in a constant state of growth, carefully manicured by its resident.

Occasionally, Radagast would shuffle to add to his notes. A compendium for parseltongue? What hints and clues the man picked up in Harry's casual conversation with Green-tuft was beyond the green-eyed wizard. But as the day continued, Radagast's pronunciation inexplicably began to resemble actual parseltongue words.

Radagast was hissing to himself on the evening of Harry's second day at the cottage when Green-tuft poked her head out from under Harry's collar.

"My word, he's starting to get it," she hissed.

Harry shared some of the snake's awe. It was a huge different from even last night. There had been some inherent difference between parseltongue and Westron. Some curl of the tongue, or trick of breath that made it impossible to translate by sound alone. But whatever it was, it sounded like Radagast was well on his way to overcoming it.

"You're getting it," Harry said to Radagast.

The man hardly looked up. "But not there yet," he said.

Harry shook his head. The single-mindedeness that Radagast had taken on the task reminded him of a certain bushy-haired brunette. It was a strange comparison, given all their differences, but an apt one nonetheless. Hermione would have love to learn parseltongue as well. Harry knew this for a fact, and the fact that he couldn't go back and offer to teach her was an ache as much as he leg.

The salves Radagast cooked up helped some, briefly taking away the chill and easing the toughness in the blackened skin around the wound. The pain still remained unchanged, though it was manageable if Harry kept still.

The end of the first week marked two events. Radagast's first parseltongue word was a strange choice. The man, through some deduction from the study of Harry's conversations with Green-tuft, had deemed 'paisley' as the word most easily pronounceable. The days leading up to it was filled with endless repetitions of something that very closely resembled 'paisley' but was not quite there. Radagast drove both Harry and Green-tuft mad with the constant hissing under his breath.

Then, mid-way through another hot soup dinner, Radagast paused, spoon hovering in front of his lips and locked eyes with Harry.

"Paisley," the man hissed.

Harry's jaw dropped. Green-tuft snaked out from under his shirt and flicked out her tongue.

"Paisley," Radagast hissed again. "Paisley, paisley, paisley."

Harry nodded. "That's right. You got it."

"He got it," Green-tuft hissed.

"I've got it!" Radagast said, crooked teeth showing from under his grin. And that was all the celebration the man offered himself. He left his soup unfinished and returned back to his notes, scribbling away, a small residue of a smile quirking the corners of his lips up.

The second remarkable event of the two came not long after. Harry was convinced the two were linked. The morning after Radagast's mastery of 'paisley,' he graduated Harry from keeping still. Instead, Radagast insisted he exercise his leg as much as he could. Not just his right leg, but his left, his arms, and his whole body.

"It's no good lying down for longer than is needed," Radagast said. "Too much and you might just become part of the scenery, consumed by the slow growth of a tree, or the ground itself. If not the animals around you."

So began a gruelling regimen of strengthening exercises. Harry didn't exactly feel weak, just cautious as Radagast suggested he try to stand.

"Use your good leg," Radagast said, over from the table.

Harry scowled. He didn't see the old man coming to offer a hand. Over the course of the last hour, he'd managed to manoeuvre himself to a position where he had his left leg under him, ready to push up. But without something to help him balance, he was stuck. Radagast either couldn't see his predicament or the man didn't care.

Instead, Radagast tended to the sprained wing of a small bird, still covered in down. It chirped happily enough as Radagast bound a splint to its wing. Harry didn't even think it was in much pain. He snorted. He was going to show that old man. He didn't need any more of his arsine advice.

"Keep your head up, then. Don't look to the ground or you'll likely topple over."

What? Harry wasn't even looking at the ground.

Chirp.

Damnit, was that man talking to the bird all this time? Argh, that's what he got for being stuck with an animal lover. Harry gritted his teeth and used one arm to help bend his right, injured leg. The slightest movement brought on the pain, but it was better if he didn't have to contract the muscles themselves. The skin stretched as his leg bent, the hardened blackness threatening to split and crack. Harry let out the breath he was holding and felt his mouth go dry. Slowly, slowly, he pushed himself up, one arm outstretched to support himself against the wall, the other, trying it's best to protect his injury from getting jarred.

He made it about half way upright before his good leg gave way from under him. He collapsed, bumping his right hip and scrunched his eyes in agony.

"Ahh Melin!" Harry cursed, hunched over his leg. He breathed out through clenched teeth in short gasps, feeling his eyes water. He couldn't move for several heartbeats from the intensity of the pain.

Through it, he heard Green-tuft's concern. "Speaker? Are you under attack? Who is it? The oaf? Tell me so I can get revenge if you die."

Despite himself, Harry snorted. He peeled his eyes open and tried to relax his tense muscles. He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat and held out a hand to Green-tuft. "I'm not going to die," he hissed. "Not yet anyway. And even if I do, I don't want you going after revenge. You just stay safe."

Harry glanced up at Radagast who was still focused on the injured bird. "I'm just glad someone's looking out for me," he hissed to Green-tuft.

She slid away as Harry turned back to his legs. Strange, why had he collapsed like that? There had been no warning, nothing. He had just suddenly been unable to bear his weight.

"You're weaker now than you were before," Radagast said, stroking the bird along its head.

Harry sighed. "Who are you talking to?"

Radagast looked up, brow creased. "You think that bird understands Westron? Who else, boy?"

"My name's Harry."

"Well I didn't ask, did I? Now keep trying. You'll need to make better progress than that!"

"I've not given up," Harry said, indignant. As if he'd let this tiny obstacle get in the way of his progress. "Only… Why weaker now?"

Radagast stilled. "When you were struck by the Morgul-blade, you started to turn. Be drawn into their realm, take on their characteristics, just as they had turned before you. The ring-wraiths are at once stronger and weaker than ordinary man, though you would have received none of their _strength_."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand. Morgul? Wraiths?"

"Another day. For a boy who can at least stand on his own two feet. Whatever I tell you before then is useless if you cannot even do that."

And that was that. Harry continued to strengthen his legs, learn to bear the pain, as Radagast continued to get better at parseltongue.

As the days went by, and Harry managed first to stand, and transfer his weight, and take his first step, he found the cottage became more and more like a home. But he didn't lose sight of his real home and at night, his dreams were of Hogwarts, and his friends, and feasts in the great hall.

Sometimes, he'd dream of darker things, but instead of Voldemort, he saw a great, flaming eye atop a dark tower and heard a fell voice –

_"Harry Potter."_

– only to wake in a cold sweat and remember none of what so terrified him in his sleep.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;chapterend&amp;&amp;&amp;**

**AN: Thanks to all the reviewers! There's a couple guests as well who I'd like to reply to, but I can't. Some people raise interesting points I'd like to address. **

**Anyway, for people worried that Harry's going to have no magic, I can assure you that he'll get it back soon. Next chapter soon. Time skip next chap as well so we pass through all the language issues and leg healing. **

**This story is semi-planned out, but there's space for additions. Leave me a comment on things you want to see happen and if it's not too outlandish, I might be able to work it in. Anyway, if you enjoyed, leave a review! Seeing people fav and follow is a joy as well, but a review really spices up the day :D**

**31st**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch3.**

The first order of business every morning was to renew the heat shards for the Tacrine's eggs. Harry lumbered up, grabbed his walking stick and manoeuvred his way from his sleeping corner to the chest of drawers where Radagast kept the pouch.

He shooed awake a sleeping chipmunk and brought out the bag. The fabric was warm, but Harry could feel heat seeping into it from the shards within. He didn't know exactly what the material was, but they held head for long periods of time and was recharged every couple of days from the cottage's fireplace.

He looped the drawstring around his wrist and limped over to the eggs.

His leg was better now, after nearly three weeks care. It still chilled during the nights, and Harry couldn't get far without his walking aide, but the pain was manageable. Radagast had been right. He'd managed to deal with it, work through it.

He'd even progressed to a point where the old wizard was willing to let him search the forest for the pieces of his wand.

But first, he needed to warm the eggs. The old shards had released all their stored up heat overnight, chilling from their red lustre down to a dull brown. With quick, efficient movement, Harry picked the five eggs out, tipped out the old shards and poured enough new ones to cover the bottom of the bowl before setting the eggs back in.

"I think they're going to hatch soon," Green-tuft hissed from Harry's sleeve. Harry absentmindedly rubbed the top of her head.

"Yes, I think so too," he hissed back.

There had been some movement the day before, and when Harry held the eggs up to the light, he could see a translucent shadow within. It was exciting, in a way. He'd never seen snakes hatch before. A dragon, yes, and he suspected the process to be much the same, only with less fire breathing. Could they speak as soon as they were born? Perhaps Harry had to teach them, like he did Radagast. And what was he going to call them?

In any case, he set the bowl of Tacrine eggs back where they belonged and lifted Green-tuft up to his eyes.

"You might be getting some brothers and sisters soon," he hissed.

Green-tuft flicked her tongue. "You take in too many strays," she hissed. "No matter. I'll always be the first."

Harry grinned as he opened the cottage door. The morning breeze brought with it the scent of damp earth from a light shower during the night. The ground was soft, and Harry left sets of three prints as he made his way across the front of the cottage with his stick.

The clearing was west of the cottage, a little over an hour's walk. For Harry, with his shortened stride and clumsier footing, it could take double the time. That was why he picked up a satchel from inside a storage barrel and slung it across his shoulders. Last night, after finishing the exercises Radagast set for him, Harry had packed away a quick lunch - nuts, berries, edible roots and a few slices of bread he'd helped bake.

"Alright then," Harry said to himself. This was it. Three weeks of recovery, who knows where his wand could have gotten to. But at least he was able to go out and search for it.

So off he went, picking the easiest routes to tackle with his bad leg, taking his time and listening out for larger creatures of the forest that may mean him harm. Radagast had assured him that his powers governed the land around them, and that all creatures within a day's walk would be amicable. Still, the black riders had been able to follow Harry and Aragorn so closely to the cottage so it was no guarantee.

The black riders. Nazugul. The ring-wraiths. Radagast had shared the history of their corruption, and of their master. The stories of the creation of the world, Melkor, his lieutenant, Sauron, and the forging of the rings of power. And also, who Radagast himself was. Harry hadn't realised 'The Brown' was of more significance than the colour of Radagast's earth stained robes.

Though Radagast had no interest in helping Harry back to his world, nor even the mere consideration of the possibilities of an alternate dimension. Not even when Harry tried to tempt the wizard with stories of the creatures in his world, mundane and magical alike. It was to no avail. Whatever purpose Radagast had on this world, it was clearly to be of as little help as possible.

Harry knew he had to leave the cottage, leave Radagast, who was a great but apathetic wizard. Apathetic to the ways of man, just as he had said, on the first day they met.

Harry sighed and rubbed the tip of Green-tuft's nose. She poked her head out and scented the air.

"What is it, speaker?"

"Nothing, Green-tuft," Harry said and continued his way west.

It was nearly noon when he came across the carnage. It was Green-tuft who alerted him to the smell, but once she did, Harry couldn't get the scent out of his nose. Wet earth still dominated, but in addition was a sickly rot that tickled the back of his throat with every breath. Green-tuft hid away in the depths of Harry's sleeves as he made with caution over a large exposed knotted root.

There it was. The den of Tacrines that had helped Harry and Aragorn were now picked clean, their curved rib bones scattered around the clearing, some already being overgrown by the bush. Around the clearing was scattered dried leaves, browned and crinkled, strange in that the area around the leaves were still damp. The stink of decomposing flesh wafted through the air. Harry clamped a hand over his nose to starve the smell away.

"What is this place? So many dead," Green-tuft hissed.

Harry climbed down from the root, taking care not to step on any of the remains lying around. "Remember those eggs? This was where Radagast took them from."

Green-tuft was silent for a while. Harry joined her as he stared out at the clearing, just looking and thinking back to the eggs back at the cottage. He'll make sure he take care of them, now and once they hatch. The Tacrines didn't have to hide him and Aragorn, but they did. And the den had died to protect the eggs, it seemed fitting that Harry take on the role after them.

Their silence was broken by the twittering of a pair of birds, bellies brilliantly yellow, as they alighted from the branches to peck at the dried flesh still encasing part of a vertebrae.

"Oi!" Harry waved his walking stick at the two birds, trying to scare them off. With the loss of a support, Harry overbalanced and put too much weight onto his bad leg. With a hiss of pain, he caught himself and ruefully set his walking stick back down. The two birds weren't fazed at all.

Shaking his head, Harry let them be. The remains had already been scoured by other creatures. What more was two little birds? This was the way the forest worked, wasn't it? Instead, he put his head down and scanned the ground for the two pieces of his wand.

He'd planned for this, when he was still stuck at the cottage. Section the area into quadrants, cover each one slowly and return a second day if the first wasn't enough. But now, faced with the tangle that was reality, the challenged was more daunting than he imagined.

Finding a stick, however special, was an impossible feat in a forest.

"Accio wand," Harry said, his hand reached out. Nothing stirred except the wings of the two birds pecking at the Tacrine's remains.

"Accio wand." Harry tried again with more power in his voice, and hopefully, more magic. He knew he had been able to wandlessly summon his wand back before third year. Before he even knew of the spell. His gaze fell on the leaves littered about the ground.

"Accio leaves." He took in a sharp breath when the leaves closest to him twitched. Was that him? Or was that the wind? He knelt down to examine one of the dried leaves. They smelled faintly of mint. He hovered his hand up close. "Accio leaves."

The leaf rose up, crossed the distance to his palm and Harry closed his fingers around it. It was dry and crinkly and he savoured the tingling of his magic as it played across his hand. A smile grew. He dropped the leaf, noting idly it left his hands streaked with dirt. He reached out for a something else.

"Accio twig."

Harry frowned when the twig didn't so much as move. Neither did the mushrooms, or the bark, or one of the Tacrine's bones. Yet as he returned to test his magic on the minty leaves, they readily fell into his hand. Harry was playing with one of the leaves he summoned, rolling the stem in his fingers, when Green-tuft poked her head out.

"Why are you playing with that leaf? Wasn't it a special stick you wanted?" she hissed.

Harry hummed. "I don't know why but these leaves are the only thing around here that respond to my magic." He sighed and brushed his hands against each other. "Strange leaves. I thought they must have fallen with a strong breeze, but none of the trees here have that particular shape. They crinkle to dust so easily. There's not a hint of moisture in them."

He picked up another leaf by hand, with the gentlest touch, yet still it broke in two before he could lift it. With a sigh, he scraped up a bit of the dust and tucked it into his satchel. A couple attempts with an accio landed him a success as he used his satchel to catch a leaf, in tact.

With a final glance around the clearing, and another fruitless attempt at summoning his wand, Harry started back on the trek to Radagast's cottage.

"Did you find your special stick?" Green-tuft asked as he walked.

"No," Harry hissed. "No, but I found something interesting."

He would've liked nothing better than to get his wand back again but he was less frantic about the possibility of losing it. He could still use magic and he held onto that familiarity like a lifeline.

Radagast didn't look up when Harry returned to the cottage, staring down a brown snake the width of his arm. Harry quirked an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt, watching from the side as Radagast took turns to duck beneath the snake's eye-level and straighten above it. It was only when this behaviour continued through several minutes that Harry sighed and took out the remains of the leaves.

The older wizard sniffed and turned around.

"Ha! You lose," the brown snake hissed. "Half a dozen mice, as you promised."

Radagast scowled, glancing down at the dust. "What have you got?" Radagast hissed in parseltongue. The wizard had progressed faster in learning the snake language than Harry had on getting back on his feet. Already, there was little hint of an accent, and the man's vocabulary grew day by day. The cottage itself had been turned over so a corner was designated for the serpentine guest of the day, and Radagast was adamant at practicing with every species in the woods.

"They were leaves. At the clearing. They reacted to my magic when nothing else did," Harry said, making a point to use Westron. It was a difficult position when speakers of two different languages both wanted to practice the others.

Radagast snorted. "Why are you showing me this? Don't you see I've got company?"

"Do you know what they are? I'd like to find more if I can."

"Of course I know what they are. Spring Growth. Baked dry for thirteen days under the summer sun."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You put them there?"

"Do you see anyone else in this forest who'd do such a thing? Now leave me be. My friend here is owed half a dozen mice," Radagast grumbled as he picked up the brown snake.

"But why do they react to my magic? Surely there's something different about-"

"Quiet, boy. I'm not interested in your little powers. You go find out for yourself!"

With a scowl, Harry took his satchel outside. He couldn't stand that wizard. Would it hurt Radagast to tell him a little more about the leaves? He shook his head. Well, now that he was outside, he could test out some other magics on the leaves.

He set a pinch of the leaf dust on the ground and surrounded it with a ring of rocks.

"Incendio."

The dust turned from dark green to red, flaming embers. Smoke spiralled out, and a slow, creeping burn travelled from the centre of the pile to the outside. There wasn't any fire to speak of, though perhaps with enough dust, something akin to the incendio he was use to might pop up.

Harry grinned. It was weak, but it was magic. A far cry from what he could do with his old wand, but there was a thrill in not needing anything, having no medium between his magic and his intent. He knew that wandless magic was reserved for those like Dumbledore and Voldemort. Or at least, it had been in his world. Perhaps things were different here, where magic-wielders were rare, but powerful.

He tried the spell with a regular leaf, and wasn't exactly surprised when nothing happened.

The rest of that evening was spent testing out the limits of his magic. Spells that affected the target all worked to a certain extent, even transfiguration. When he tried to turn the pile of dust into a pincushion on pure whim, it puffed up but then collapsed back in on itself, releasing a puff of mint-scented air like a tiny sigh.

Other spells, such as those that summoned matter or energy didn't work at all.

Lumos was an unfortunate failure. In the weeks without magic, and without the convenience of muggle technology, light had been something he solely missed. Driven by the cycles of the sun and the temperament of the weather, there were days when all that lit up the cottage was a single flickering candle.

Harry returned to the cottage with the conclusion that he was somehow able to use magic to affect the leaves, but nothing else. That night, Harry stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the night forest and tried to ignore Radagast's snores. He'd found something to conduct his magic. Something that Radagast prepared. Moonlight seeped through the window and fell on the old wizard's staff.

Perhaps...?

Harry, lying on his side in his regular spot, reached out a hand, the summoning spell on his lips. The tingle of magic along his fingers should have been notice enough, but Harry gaped as the staff tipped over and toppled to the ground. It sent a crack echoing around the cottage and every creature seeking shelter within the walls woke as one.

Even Radagast, stirred by the startled sounds of his forest friends, woke and looked about in alarm. Through it all, Harry was still and quiet. The leaves. The staff. There were two items that he could affect with his magic. And if there were two, there were bound to be more.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;pagebreak&amp;&amp;&amp;**

After several days of wandering the forest, casting magic at everything he could see, Harry had only found one other item that responded to his magic. The berries were nondescript, certainly not out of place in the vegetation on the forest floor. They were red, quite sizeable, about the length of his thumbnail, and lobulated. Edible too – his attention had been drawn to the berry bushes by their popularity with the local wildlife.

The red berries, he noted, took exceedingly well to incendio, producing a fireball the size of his fist and making a sound like that of a thunderclap. He'd been able to successfully start fires with just one of the berries, and there were plenty more on the bushes just a short walk from the cottage. He hadn't found any particular preference in the other items, and after the excitement of seeing something blow up so magnificently, it was frustrating to think that he still had no idea why some items had a response and others didn't.

Harry was playing with some of the red berries when he heard a rattling from the corner of the table.

He reached out a hand, and bowl with the Tacrine eggs skittered across the table, pushing aside some of Radagast's scrolls, and thunked into Harry's hand. He blinked. Either the eggs, or the bowl, or the heat shards in the bottom of the bowl responded to his magic.

But that revelation would have to wait. A crack shot across the surface of an egg. Lightning quick. Of the five eggs, the smallest one was the first to hatch. Another crack split off from the first, the egg shook, jittering against the others and the crack along the length of the egg widened. A bubbly fluid seeped out. The shell didn't crumble, still held together by membrane, and a small, shiny head started to force its way out.

Harry sucked in a breath and held it, not willing to disturb the baby snake. "Hello there," he hissed." Was that a response? The baby moved so slowly, it must be hard work, exhausting work. Harry wanted to help, but didn't know how. He didn't want to risk breaking the shell, or getting the snake dirty with his hands. Do snakes even get sick?

Then, as if the emergence of the first snake was a signal, another egg started to slowly open. Harry started to hiss encouragements, casual nothings that he wasn't sure would be understood. He didn't know how snakes hatched in the wild, whether the Tacrines would gather around and watch or something else entirely.

Maybe they would gather food. Harry looked up and frowned. He didn't like the idea of leaving the snakes while they were so small and vulnerable. Green-tuft had a right to be worried, staying in the cottage where there were so many other creatures bigger than she was. Though none had yet tried to eat her, maybe the birds and rodents would have fewer qualms going for his hatchlings.

So stay he did, watching over the three eggs that were hatching. Green-tuft came out to watch for a while as well, but she didn't sound very interested when Harry asked her to say hello.

"What's the point? That one doesn't even look like it'll last the day," she said, her noise lifting in distain at one of the heads poking out of the shell. "Might as well eat it now and save the trouble."

Harry glanced at the hatchling in alarm, but as far as he could tell, it was doing just as well as the other. He pursed his lips. "I'll help them as much as I can. And no one's eating anyone else."

But Green-tuft merely flicked out her tongue and disappeared back into his sleeve. Harry sighed. Was this part of the sibling rivalry he should come to expect? Was Green-tuft worried the new snakes would take up all of Harry's attention? What a strange thought. While Harry didn't appreciate Green-tuft wanting to _eat_ one of the hatchlings, he couldn't help but feel a warm glow at the thought that he was needed.

Radagast dropped by, a rainbow scaled boa around his shoulders, and watched the Tacrines hatching for a little while, but there was little excitement in the task. The hatchlings were small and weak, barely moving.

"That's nothing strange," Radagast said. "They'll grow in time. The first trial is often the hardest, though one looks like its struggling."

Harry frowned. "That's what Green-tuft said. She said this one wouldn't last the day."

Radagast raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps she's right then. She's a snake, after all. Snakes are akin to know more about their own birthing than humans, wouldn't you say?" The old wizard took a step back. "You're getting attached aren't you?" he asked, amused.

"This is not funny," Harry said. Now that the Brown Wizard confirmed Green-tuft's prediction, Harry was getting worried. He gnawed his lips, fingers drumming along the table edge.

"This isn't," Radagast agreed, "but you are. A hatchling yourself, thinking that everything should live, live as you do. Some things aren't meant to be. The sooner you see that, the better. Now you better go find some grub for your little attachments. Or none of them will survive for long."

Harry stood, careful not to jar his leg. "You will watch over them?"

Radagast snorted. "Just this once. Remember to stock up if you hatch any more eggs in the future." The wizard hefted the boa off his shoulders, the sleepy snake not even voicing a complaint, and the two of them retreated to the corner of the room.

With a lingering glance at the birds in the rafters, Harry limped out of the cottage. He lifted Green-tuft.

"Hey, friend. How do you hunt for your food?" he asked.

"With skill," Green-tuft hissed.

Harry just stared at her. Green-tuft stared right back before ducking her head. "I suppose you'll want the squirming ones. They're softer. I usually have a couple of burrows I check first."

With Green-tuft leading the way, Harry travelled from one of her hunting spots to another. With a flick of her tongue, Green-tuft was able to point in the direction they needed to head. Her territory it seemed, was an area of land to the south of the cottage, close enough even for Harry to reach without his leg acting up.

He was able to gather a sizeable number of worms. He bundled them up in a corner of his shirt and was about to head back to the cottage when he realised how quiet his snake companion had become. She was lying flat, not moving much, and had her head turned abjectly away from him.

"Hey, Greeny..." Harry started. How did someone console a snake? He didn't even knew they felt so much. "Are you upset?"

She lifted her head. "Upset? Why would I be upset?"

"...Alright, sorry I asked," Harry said.

They returned to the cottage in silence, Green-tuft either sleeping or pretending to sleep, and Harry too focused on not dropping the hatchling's food. The hatchlings had made progress in the short time that Harry was away. Both had emerged further, though it looked like there was still a way to go.

It wasn't like Norbert at all, Harry thought. These snakes took their time with coming out and the whole process was a lot more draining for an onlooker. But come out they did, a few hours later. The first one broke free a little time after dinner, plopping out of its shell, exploring the inner surface of the bowl. The heat shards sticking to its soft scales, a tiny tongue flickering out. It was one slimey - but drying - hatchling.

"How does the world taste," Harry hissed, not really expecting a response.

The first hatchling looked up, opened its mouth wide in a yawn and curled back around the fragments of its shell.

Not long after, the second followed, though instead of curling around its own shell, it sought the company of the first born, nudging its side with a short nose who obligingly moved aside. They curled around each other, tails forming a spiral.

"Ahh, there you see how the Tacrines' familial loyalty manifests immediately after hatching. They can move just as quickly like that, and there's security and strength together." Radagast took a seat beside Harry. "It's a shame I only saved five of the eggs. And maybe not even that."

Harry glanced at the older wizard. "What? Why not?"

"The ring-wraiths corrupt much of what they encounter. The leaves I scattered would only cleanse the area so much. The eggs which had been exposed stood little chance and out of the twenty three, I chose only those which had been corrupted the least. They are before you, two of which had hatched already." Radagast shook his head. "For little good they will be left to themselves. Two Tacrines, or even five Tacrines are a poor substitute for a den."

That was certainly true. The den that fathered these eggs had been so numerous he couldn't have hoped to count them. Seeing these two lonely hatchlings by themselves was a pure shame.

"Don't be too surprised if the other eggs don't hatch. This couple may be the only ones that made it," Radagast said.

Harry nodded but didn't meet his eyes. He could hear the undertone of steel in the older wizard's voice. However much he had appreciated learning Harry's parseltongue, the blame wasn't gone. Radagast knew the ring-wraiths wouldn't have entered the forest if not for Harry, and he was right. Instead of dwelling on the thought, Harry reached in and picked out the husk of one of the eggs, careful not to disturb the two resting hatchlings, and placed it half way across the table.

"I may have found another conduit for my magic," he said to Radagast.

The other wizard sighed. "Good for you. Now stop bugging me about it all. I've told you once and I'll tell you again. I've no interest in whatever magics you have, nor this other world you mention. Go find Gandalf or make a visit to the elves, they've sorceresses amongst them."

Harry scowled. He held out his hand. "Accio shell."

It didn't so much as twitch. Harry frowned. He was sure it was the shell, and if not, the snakes themselves.

Radagast huffed in distain. "I suppose it was supposed to do that."

Harry tried to ignore him as he gently retrieved a pinch of the expended fire shards. Perhaps it was these heat-absorbent crystals?

"Accio heat shards."

Nothing again. He bit his lip. He didn't particularly want to try casting magic on the hatchlings so soon. They were living things, and besides, he couldn't risk accidentally harming them. Instead, he emptied out the bowl, making sure the other eggs didn't roll away, and tried again.

"Accio bowl."

It scraped along the table and smacked into his hand. Harry gaped. It was the bowl? He looked at it in his hands, turning it over, studying the chips and scratches in its surface. There was nothing special about this bowl, at least, nothing he could tell.

"I suppose it could be handy, calling a bowl to your hands," Radagast said with a sniff. "I don't see why you've made such a fuss."

"Is there anything special about this bowl?" Harry asked. It couldn't just be an ordinary wooden bowl, could it? Maybe it was a special wood, maybe it's been used to mix magical ingredients, been exposed to some reagent that's triggered this change.

"Special? Oh yes, it sure is."

Harry looked up in anticipation. Was Radagast going to be helpful for once?

"It's Fluffsy's water bowl, isn't it? Only she's not here at the moment so-"

Harry stood, barely restraining himself from smacking his hands on the table. His walking stick fell and clattered to the ground and he was vaguely aware that Green-tuft had poked her head out at the commotion.

"What is it with you?" Harry said. "Why can't you ever answer a question straight? All I need is some information, information I know you have, or you could have! All you care about is your little home, your little forest, your little animal friends. I've been here more than a month and still no closer to finding out how in Merlin's name I got here and how to get back. I need to get back, I've got people waiting for me back home, people who probably think I'm dead. If you know nothing, then say so. Stop it with this disinterest bollocks." He dropped his voice low. "What worse, your own world is in trouble. The little you've told me about this place makes it obvious, yet all you do is idle about, caring of nothing. What grand wizard you are, Radagast!"

He breathed hard and in the silence of the cottage, it echoed far longer than it was welcome. Radagast's eyes were slightly widened, but the old wizard didn't react beyond that.

"That was rash, speaker," Green-tuft said.

"Indeed," Radagast said as he folded his arms across his chest. "If you are so willing to cast your lot in with everyone else, then perhaps you should. Your leg's as healed as far as I can assist with, and you've taught me enough of the snake tongue that I can manage myself."

"Very rash."

Harry narrowed his eyes, the anger at Radagast's indifference still shimmering, threatening to boil over. "Fine. I've been meaning to search out another wizard anyway. I'll be taking my things."

Harry gathered the little possessions he had; the berries, the leaf dust, his satchel, and the Tacrines. He grabbed his walking stick, and turned back at the doorway. "I'll be taking _Fluffsy's_ bowl as well. Whatever she is, I'm sure she'll manage." He held out a hand, summoned the bowl and roughly stashed it in his satchel.

Harry stormed out as best as he was able on his injured leg and left the cottage behind him before he could fully realise that yes, the contents of the satchel was all he owned. The door slammed shut behind him, for a moment startling the rest of the forest into silence, which was no sooner broken by Harry's shuffling footsteps as he trundled into the underbush.

The night was nearly upon the world, the wind a constant cooling pressure on his skin. It helped calm his head, but not by much. At the very least, he had a plan. Whether his plan would stand up to reality would have to wait.

A few minutes out from the cottage, Harry took a deep breath and checked on his Tacrines. The two hatchlings lay still, as if they hadn't been bothered by any of what expired. Sleeping? Perhaps. The two of them were barely longer than his forefinger and thinner by half, similar in appearance, but the first hatched was just a tad longer than the second.

Harry tucked them, along with their bowl, on top of the satchel, and added a couple of worms in case they get hungry. Then, he made a course for the north west.

"That was extremely rash," Green-tuft hissed as they walked through the forest.

After a time, Harry responded. "You're probably right. But less foolish, perhaps, than staying and trying again with Radagast. There is no swaying him and I've already stayed too long."

"Could it have hurt to stay a little longer so you could have brought some proper supplies with you?"

Harry pursed his lips. "I can manage." He'll have to, if he wanted to make the journey into Eriador and find the grey wizard Gandalf. He could only hope that more promise lay in this wizard than the last.

He searched the forest floor as he walked, keeping an eye out for food. There were many varieties he recognised, many more that he thought seemed familiar, but Harry took only those which he knew for sure wouldn't poison him. He chanced upon a nice cluster of wild potatoes and a little further was plentiful greens. It would be enough for a day's worth of food.

In addition, he found more of his firecracker berries. They'd be the most useful, in the days ahead. A single engorgio could expand the berries out ten times their size, and he knew charms that would keep them from spoiling. Good fire starters, too with a simple incendio.

He found a hollowed out trunk right as night fell. It was a better spot to camp than most others Harry spotted, so he searched the surrounding area for kindling and sacrificed one of the small red berries to help start a fire. Once he was warm, he took the two Tacrine hatchlings and cupped them in his hand.

They were awake, slowly moving, still wound together. Harry brought out a worm and dangled it above their heads. The bigger one lifted its head but didn't make any moves.

"Go on," Harry hissed. "You need to eat if you want to get stronger." He wriggled the worm, nudging it towards the Tacrines. "Go take it. I'm going to be travelling a lot from now on. I won't have much time to take care of you, so you should eat now."

None of the snakes moved.

"Perhaps if they do not want it, I can eat the worm," Green-tuft said. "I'm not so ungrateful as to refuse food."

With a sigh, Harry picked out another worm. "You can have this one. I'm still going to try to make them eat."

Green-tuft wrapped around his wrist and started at the worm. It wasn't such a large meal for her, but seeing his snake's jaws unhinge and eat the worm whole was still an impressive sight. A movement drew his attention to the two Tacrines. The larger one had grabbed hold of their worm and was pulling it over in the direction of the smaller.

Harry blinked. He'd chosen one of the smallest worms for the hatchlings, one that they could conceivably swallow whole, like Green-tuft. Harry with a grimace used a stick to segment the worm into halves, and they followed in Green-tuft's footsteps.

"They're learning from you," Harry hissed. "All they needed was someone who could show them what to do."

Green-tuft seemed taken aback. "I don't think so. They just got hungry. I haven't taught them anything."

Nevertheless, as the next day dawned, Harry woke from in the hollow of the tree to faint hisses. He peaked one eye open and saw the tip of Green-tuft's tail poking out from his satchel.

"This one's crunchier," came Green-tuft's voice, "but more filling than that squirmy one. I caught a couple. More than I can eat by myself, and I do hate wasting good food. Be careful, they like to kick around while you're swallowing them."

Harry raised his eyebrows. With all her posturing and jealousy act, was she warming up to the two Tacrines? He hid a smile and shut his eyes. That would be good. It would be good to have three friends who didn't constantly bicker around him. Not that the two hatchlings could talk yet, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time.

When he couldn't justify resting his aching leg any longer, Harry picked himself up and yawned. He checked his leg, but it was the same as it had been a week ago. Wound still red, though healing slowly, the flesh around it, from his right hip to mid-thigh, was a chilled black. The effort of walking last night had left it more painful than usual, and Harry grimaced as he pushed himself up with his walking stick. He wasn't looking forward to the next morning, when it would surely be worse.

He checked on the Tacrines – they were fine, sleeping away, and noted that Green-tuft had retreated to wrapping around his wrist, like nothing happened between her and the hatchlings. Harry rolled his eyes and decided not to say anything.

They made it out of the forest by late afternoon. The trees thinned out, and more of the sky poked through the canopy. Harry no longer had to move at an achingly slow pace over exposed roots and moss laden stones as the ground toughened up and flattened down.

He and Aragorn must have passed by this place. Not far off would be the town of Fieldell, his first stop in his journey to reach Gandalf the grey. If, that is, he isn't waylaid by orcs, or goblins. Or black riders.

Harry took his first step into the grasslands with a hand to the pocket of his satchel, half-expecting danger to leap out at him from every direction. He wasn't defenceless, though he was without the familiar comfort of his wand. He had brilliant firecracker berries, able to build up a fire just like and incendio. Plus now, he was armed with more knowledge about the world and its inhabitants.

Two days to Fieldell. Surely he could manage to stay alive until then.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;chapend&amp;&amp;&amp;**

**AN: Why Harry can do magic or certain things and not on others will be explained. Like you guys have seen, he'll definitely have magic, but it'll be a different kind than in the books. **

**What do you guys think of his snakes? Type in a few words and hit that button! If you have no opinion about snakes (but come on, they're awesome :D), a little 'thanks, I enjoyed' is cool too. Please consider supporting the story if you're following or about to follow. Very big thank you for the people who've reviewed so far! **

**31st**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch4.**

The journey to Fieldell was mostly unremarkable. The Tacrines continued to grow with the aid of Green-tuft's unobtrusive care, and Harry's leg continued to grow more painful as the effects of Radagast's poultice wore off. But he still managed to walk, and get himself up in the morning, and best of all, the nights were quiet with no signs of danger.

No sign, that is, until the morning of the third day, when he looked upon the townstead where he'd enjoyed his first hot meal with Aragorn, and found it in ruins.

Green-tuft poked her head out, tasting the air. "There's been fire here, but some time ago."

Harry nodded. They were still a fair ways away from the walls themselves - though now they were hardly suited to be called walls - but a quick change in the wind brought the scent of ash to him as well. It wasn't unlike the huts he found on the river's edge, on the first day he arrived in Middle Earth. All that could be burnt had been burnt, although there must have been some rainfall to quell the flames before they got out of control. The thick rain from a week or so ago, Harry thought. Which means the destruction must have occurred before then.

"I came here once, before I met you. The people were nice, though I couldn't speak to anyone at the time. They didn't deserve this," Harry whispered.

There was still hope. As Harry neared the town, the marks on the ground he mistook for erosion from the rain revealed themselves as tracks for large wheels. Possibly large wagons, and more than one. Some of the people must have survived, then, and left. The silence in the place made it clear that none had remained.

It wasn't that the buildings weren't worth salvaging. With a good dozen strong men, and a plentiful source of timber in Mirkwood nearby (though chopping it down was not without its own risks), the town could be rebuilt. As Harry wondered the abandoned streets, sidestepping wrecking and hoping to not come across any bodies, he found the reason in the form of a single mass grave towards the eastern edge. Going by the size of the trench, many, many had died.

Harry pursed his lips, a hollow feeling in his chest. For the most part, it was for the sake of the people, those who had died and those who were still alive, but some of his sorrow was for himself. The first part of his plan in tracking down Gandalf had failed.

Or had it?

There were still tracks from the survivors. He could follow them. They must have headed to another town. They would have had a week's head start. And they had wagons, and possibly horses, while he was limping along with a bad leg and three snakes.

Harry shook his head. There was no time to fixate on the negatives. He had a path and following it would be up to him.

With a final lingering look at the grave, Harry turned and followed the wagon trails out north. The rest of the day was again, spent walking. He was thankful that the ground was soft enough to take on tracks, but not so soft it made every step a chore. The wound in his right thigh pulsed with every move and Harry shuddered to think that Radagast was right in saying it was as healed as it ever would be. Surely there were greater healers than that old wizard? Harry didn't have much confidence in that, but living the rest of his life in constant pain was unbearable.

He looked down at the ground. He didn't need to bear such a load just yet. Right now, it was one step at a time. That was all he needed.

That night, he found a small outcropping of rocks, with a slight overlean. He chanced a fire, using some dried reeds and one of his red berries as a fire starter. Green-tuft murmured her appreciation as she curled up near the flames, and Harry brought out the two Tacrines.

Their growth had been exceptional the past few days. From when they hatched, no thicker than his pinky, they were now twice as large. Their scales had hardened into smooth, coloured discs, and there was more of a gleam to their eyes.

The two were still wrapped around each other. In the time that Harry had seen them, they'd never separated.

"I don't think your brothers and sisters will be joining us," Harry hissed to them. The three other eggs lay unresponsive in his bowl and showed no sign of hatching. One, to his horror, had started to mould.

He held out his wrist and after a moment's hesitation, the Tacrines slithered over and wrapped themselves around.

"I'll have to give you some names, I think. Can't keep calling you first-hatched and second-hatched," Harry murmured. "Let me see if I can tell you apart."

While at first, the first hatched was much larger and longer than the second, the difference shrunk as they grew. Now both were roughly the same size, though there was one distinguishing characteristic to tell them apart. There was two white streaks along the belly of the first-hatched, starting from its head and widening before merging together at its tail. The second-hatched had no such streaks, although there was more variation in shades on the scales of its back. Both were coloured a mix of blue-green, and speckled with brown. Harry suspected that if let loose on the forest floor, or on the branches of a tree, they'd be virtually invisible.

"Streak," he said. "Streak and Shade, after your markings. You'll take after Green-tuft."

The newly named Tacrines shifted on his wrist like they understood, or at least heard his voice.

"For another matter," Harry said to Green-tuft. "You know I'm horrible at these things. Are Streak and Shade girls or boys?"

Green-tuft lifted her head just slightly from where she stared into the fire. "The one you've named Streak is male. Shade is female. And those are entirely unfitting names, I'll have you know. In fact, I have-"

Harry bit back a smile. "I didn't think you were that into names. And what were you going to say? You had what?"

"I said nothing."

"Really?"

"Be quiet, speaker, and let me bask."

Harry snorted. "As you wish. But they're staying Streak and Shade. When they learn to speak, they can change it, but I don't think they will. I think it suits them just fine." He used one fingertip to stroke the Tacrine's heads.

A moment's silence passed, then, when Harry thought Green-tuft had drifted into sleep, he caught the faint hiss of her voice, "You would," and was caught off-guard by the tenderness he heard in It.

**&amp;&amp;&amp;pagebreak&amp;&amp;&amp;**

The next day started off with the promise of a hot breakfast. Harry had found the nest of a waterfowl, tucked away beside the wagon tracks and had pinched the trio of eggs within. Then, feeling a little guilty, he returned one and covered the nest up so it was a little more hidden. This was mocked relentlessly by Green-tuft.

"It's the bird's own fault it didn't hide the nest properly. You should have taken all the eggs. That's how the world works," she hissed.

Harry shrugged. "The nest was probably well hidden, only the wagon passed by and flattened some of the reeds. That's why I was able to find it."

"Is the wagon not part of the world? Where lies the falseness in my words?"

"Do you want an egg or don't you? There's only two and I'll gladly give one to Streak and Shade if you keep hammering me."

Sure enough, Green-tuft kept her silence after that.

Harry set up a flat stone a short distance from the nest and used a berry to raise the heat.

"It's not that I don't get what you're saying, Greeny," he said as he took the eggs out of his pocket. Harry blinked. He placed the eggs down and reached over to his left wrist. His left wrist where Green-tuft usually curled. Where she wasn't curled right now.

From back the way he came, he heard a frantic buffet of wings and a faint, alarmed hiss from his wayward companion. Harry was on his feet in an instant, ignoring for a moment his pain and stumbled as best he could back towards the nest.

"Green-tuft!"

Over the lip of the reeds, he could see the white tipped wings of the waterfowl, and a curved, crested beak. Then, in a moment, the fury stopped as the bird heaved itself up into the air.

Harry's heart leapt up as he saw her, grabbed by the waterfowl's claws. Green-tuft flailed, twisting as she tried to manoeuvre for a strike as the bird brought greater and greater distance between them and the ground. She let herself dangle, then shot upwards at the bird's legs. A squawk rang out and the startled waterfowl let Green-tuft drop. She writhed as she fell.

"No!" Harry couldn't move. She was too far away for him to catch, falling too quickly. She couldn't survive the fall! It was too high. She needed to be harder, need to resist the impact.

Green-tuft needed to be harder! Hard as stone.

She made a thud as she hit the ground. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, frozen where he stood. Then, with a head clouded with fear, he pushed through the reeds, looking for and dreading the sight of her mangled body.

The bird squawked above him, echoing, relentless, but everything faded when he got to the site where Green-tuft fell. The reeds had been bent, their stalks snapped, broken by the force of the impact. Unbroken, lying in the middle of the wreckage, was a stone cast of his Green-tuft.

Perfect in every way, lying at an odd angle as Green-tuft had frozen while in the air. Every scale was picked out by the hands of a master carver, the hint of fangs from slightly open mouth, and the curve of a tail searching for a support.

"No," Harry murmured, reaching out a shaking hand. Had he done this? Had he made her hard, turned her into stone? But she wasn't turning back-

And yet, the stone eased under his fingers at the very thought. Colour seeped back into her scales, and she stirred.

"Speaker?" A lurid hiss, while she was still half-stone.

Harry couldn't find the wards he wanted to say.

"Speaker? What happened? I was falling. The bird. The bird! Quickly, speaker, hide so it doesn't get you."

Harry shook his head. The last vestige of stone disappeared from Green-tuft's body. The light returned to her eyes and in a second she had wrapped herself on his wrist again. He held a protective hand over her and rubbed the tip of her nose.

"Don't worry about the bird. I'm much too large for it. You're safe, don't worry." As he muttered reassurances, his mind spun. He'd turned Green-tuft into stone. Without any wand or spell or even knowledge that he could.

"What happened? I was… cold. I don't remember. Did you catch me?"

"No. No, I didn't. I was too far away."

"Then how?"

"I don't know. I think I turned you to stone."

Green-tuft hissed in wordless alarm. "You did what? I am not a stone! A stone is without life, without thought, without feeling. I could never be a stone."

Without life, without thought? A shiver ran down Harry's back. She was right, of course. What he had done was true petrification, turning an animate creature into inanimate stone. It wasn't like petrificus totalus, or the basilisk's reflection. Transfiguration at this level tended to be permanent.

He looked down at Green-tuft, happily – or not so happily – curled up on his wrist, obviously not made of stone. He wasn't hallucinating. It had happened. Somehow, he had managed to save Green-tuft from the fall by turning her into stone. And she had turned back again. All without his wand.

Harry bit his lip. This was something he had to investigate. Whatever he was doing, it was nothing he'd ever learned in Hogwarts. He wouldn't even have thought this was possible. But in a new land, where so much was different, who was to say what was and was not possible? So with a shrug, and an air of anticipation, Harry returned to the tracks from Fieldell's wagons and continued on his way.

A fair distance from the nest and where all the previous excitement occurred, Harry used another rock as a makeshift stove-top, trying for another chance at a hot breakfast. He took an egg, cracked it onto the hot rock and grimaced as a half formed chick flopped out of the shell. He turned away, feeling his stomach roil.

He'd somehow forgotten what eggs were like in the wild. All those fried eggs, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs he'd made and eaten... His stomach rolled. He couldn't stand to look at the mess he'd made.

In the end, Green-tuft and the Tacrines had an egg each. They weren't nearly so fussy about it all. Harry still made a point not to look, though Green-tuft loudly described in excruciating detail which part of the unborn bird it was swallowing.

Harry munched on a handful of nuts and a couple bits of an engorgioed berry and tried not to feel too disappointed. Perhaps that night he'd give a go at fishing. He knew about fish. He wouldn't be squeamish then. Would that he could petrify fish as they swam around his legs, and pick up the stones and thaw them over a fireplace. What a great fisherman he'd be! With that thought sating his hunger for now, he started up again, reluctantly picking up an amused Green-tuft, and letting Streak and Shake ride on his other wrist.

By late afternoon, the wagon trails had taken on a new character. Instead of before, with sets of parallel lines scouring the earth, one pair had taken on a kink. Harry followed the kinked trail for a few minutes, noting how it tended to curve to the left before getting dragged back. He was thinking about the poor driver who had to deal with that when he heard voices on the wind.

He looked up, startled and drew to a stop. Was it a trick? Was it Green-tuft? No, it had sounded like a grown man, though now that he'd stopped, he couldn't hear anything. Harry looked around, in case he was being snuck upon, but there was-

Again! A voice carried by the wind. Raised, with inflections of anger.

He couldn't possibly have caught up to the survivors already. They had a full week's head start on him. He frowned and looked at the tracks. Though there was that one wagon struggling to keep straight. Spurred on by the hope that he wasn't as far behind as he thought, Harry hurried on through the reeds. He ignored the pain in his leg and used his walking stick to beat out a path through the reeds.

It was not long later that he came across the camp. He'd been hearing voices for a while now, and mixed in between the regular clanging of a hammer on metal, and a few barks. There were three wagons in total, dumpy wooden structures poking out from a small copse of bush. Nearby, crowded around a modest fire, sat a handful of men and women. Half a dozen horses were tied up to pegs around the camp site and a pair of dogs, no more than puppies, scuffled in the dirt.

Harry crouched in cover and watched from a distance. The atmosphere in the group didn't look good – not that Harry expected anything else. Having their town destroyed, their families killed, and now their wagon waylaid? He'd be downright pissed. It was with some trepidation that he spoke with Green-tuft.

"They're there."

"Yes, I can smell them," she said.

"Should I go over?"

Green-tuft flicked her tail. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you're a coward or not."

Harry gritted his teeth. "That's not exactly fair. There's… fourteen of them. And some have swords. I can't very well defend myself from all of them at once. And for all I think they might be survivors from Fieldell, who's to say they're not the attackers? Or bandits? There's no guarantee they're the good guys, Greeny."

"My words don't change."

"You keep saying that."

"And still they remain."

"… At least I could turn you to stone if things get rough."

"You'll do no such thing! I prefer to be me, thank you _very_ much. Though I'm still not sure I believe you."

Harry sighed, gnawing his lips. He took a good study of the camp. Fourteen, he'd counted, though he couldn't be sure there weren't more people in the wagons themselves. A blacksmith worked, bent over an iron, sweat gleaming off his back from the fire. Some of the men and women worked with their hands, doing what, he couldn't see. Others were resting, talking. Occasionally, a shout would break out, the people would shuffle, and there would be a moment of tension before the conflict resolved, seemingly on its own. The smell of roasting meat drifted over and Harry's stomach rumbled.

The thought of food, more than anything else, made his decision. So perhaps he wasn't a coward, but a glutton instead, Harry thought, trying to ignore his misgivings. He stood, brushed his shirt and trousers down, and lifted a hand with a shout of greeting.

"Hello, the camp."

And then came a heart beat's embarrassment when his voice didn't generate any reaction. He'd been too soft. Harry cleared his throat, shuffled forward a few steps, one hand clutching his walking stick, the other still raised to show he was unarmed.

He tried again. "Hello, the camp."

This time, people heard him. The response was instant. People jerked around, a couple saw him among the reeds, raised their own shouts of alarm, and stood. Those with swords drew them or hovered their hands close to the hilt. The blades in the fire light were mottled with rust and barely gleaming, a far cry from Aragorn's weapon. These ones were poorly looked after, likely rarely used. Still, a dull edge was no compensation for a forceful thrust.

Harry stopped his advance, and in his sweaty palms he clutched a handful of his red berries.

"Who goes there?" Came the suspicious voice of a young man. The speaker stepped forward. The man must have been in his early twenties, with hair a dusky brown and a stern set to his jaws. In his hands he held a slim, curved blade, and from the looks of it, one of the best maintained. As he spoke, he lifted a hand to his eyes

Harry realised he must have been back lit by the setting sun. They would have a difficult time looking at him. He bit through a grimace, shouting back, "A traveller. I'd like to join your camp if you good people be willing."

"Traveller? Alone in these forsaken lands?"

"Not by choice. May I approach?"

A brief silence, then hushed murmurs as the men and women conversed amongst each other. A different man stepped forward, this one with a hunch to his back, and aided by a stick similar to Harry's.

"You sound young, traveller. How old are you?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth, but a stray thought caught him by surprise. With the Third Task at the end of the school year, and then the month or so he spent with Radagast… had his birthday slipped by him? How old was he?

"Well then? You got an answer for me, traveller?"

"I'm old enough!" Harry answered. "Please, I mean no harm."

Another hushed discussion. A few men put away their swords, seemingly as relieved as Harry himself. There were a few who didn't, the first speaker among them. An argument broke out, and Harry caught some snippets of words thrown around, many thrown by the young man.

"Stranger… intentions… burnt down."

It ended with him throwing his curved blade down and stomping away. Dramatic, though Harry couldn't criticise. He'd done about the same thing at Radagast's, hadn't he?

The old man waved him over. "You're welcome to join us, fellow traveller," he said.

Harry approached as beckoned, breathing out a breath he hadn't realised he held. "Stay still," he hissed to Green-tuft. "But not too still," he added as an afterthought. Who knows what had triggered the transformation before, but he didn't want to risk turning his friend to stone permanently. He said the same to Streak and Shade, though he doubted they'd understand.

As he neared, it became more and more evident that these weren't survivors from Fieldell. The lack of fishing equipment was the first thing. The people of Fieldell survived off the river, fishing for their food, and likely travelling by boat instead of wagon. For another, there was an overabundance of costumes. Colourful garments create by needle and string, embroideries by firelight, rope-makers, and one who created fanciful hairpieces, adorned with feathers and many coloured stones.

The old man caught his wandering gaze and offered a short bow. "My name is Maurius, I am the ring keeper of Maurius' Travelling Wonders. May you be welcome among friends."

Harry gaped.

"Perhaps you have heard of us? Of Phillipa, the contorting woman, or Dale, our strong man? He can lift the weight of an oliphaunt!" Maurius gestured to a thin lanky woman sitting by the fire, and then to a man who had so many muscles they tried to jump out of his skin. The strong man flexed, and flashed a grin.

"Have some sense of decency, Maurius, the boy's injured." A woman with grey in her hair stepped forward and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. Her hands were tough, though calloused in strange places. She glanced in concern at Harry's leg. "What's your name, dear? You're limping. Come on, we have a healer in our band. Tally can see what he can do for you."

Harry looked up in alarm. "It's Harry. And no, that's not needed. I'm alright, you needn't bother… Tally about me." For some reason, the thought of these strangers seeing the blackened skin of his leg made him uneasy. Actually, he knew exactly what the reason was. The sight of his leg lent itself too much to the work of darkness. And if they were to know the effects of a Morgul-wound, then Harry doubted their goodwill would last much longer.

"Nonsense. I'll not have you dying on me. Heaven knows we've seen-" she cut off, a stricken look on her face. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to bring it up." At her words, the few people who were listening in on their conversation looked away. Some ducked their heads, a grim set to their mouths. Others looked ill.

Harry looked around him, taking in their reactions and thought back to his own when he came across the burned townstead. "Were you the ones who buried them?"

"We were." The young man from before returned. He picked up his sword from the ground, turning it over in his hands. "A shame we hadn't arrived earlier, or I could have done something more than carry the dead and leave them rotting in the earth." He looked up, met Harry's eyes with a haunted look. "Have you seen destruction like I've seen it? The whole town, dead."

The grey-haired woman still had her hand on Harry's shoulder. Her grip tightened, though she didn't interrupt.

"Everyone was dead. How could they not be, bodies rent in pieces, bones crushed, eyes gouged. The flies and crows had been at them for days before we got there. They think you're a survivor. No, I know for sure there were no survivors in that town."

"Randel, that's enough." The grey-haired woman let go of Harry's shoulder and marched over to Randel. "You'll stop accusing our guest at once. Haven't you got eyes? He's only a boy. Barely older than your brother when-"

Maurius cleared his throat, stopping her in her tracks.

She turned to glare at him, uncaring that he'd raised his hands with a shrug.

"I only thought I'd mention our guest looks tired from the day, Selene," he said. "Perhaps you'd best bring him to Tally…?"

Selene, the grey-haired woman, nodded, shot another warning look at Randel, and reached out for Harry's wrist. There was only a split second to react and Harry danced out of the way. Or he would have if his leg hadn't buckled from under him and sent him crashing to the floor.

With a groan, he straightened out his leg on the ground, not liking the way it twanged as it moved.

"Speaker?" came Green-tuft's soft hiss. Harry didn't dare reply. When Selene had reached out for him, she would have grabbed onto the exact spot Streak and Shade had been resting. With Randel on edge, and the sword back in his hands, Harry didn't think it wise for his snakes to show themselves yet.

"Are you alright?" Selene asked, bending down to help him up. She hesitated before offering him a hand. Harry used his left, the one Green-tuft was wrapped around, and hoped she had the sense to stay still. Even taking the utmost care, he could feel how close Green-tuft's scales were to the woman's hand.

Then they hobbled to one of the wagons, Selene leading the way, and left the stares behind them.

"I'm sorry about Maurius and Randel," she said. "We're all a bit shaken up. Not that that's a very good excuse but in all my life I'd never seen such horror. If. If you don't mind me asking. I mean, you needn't say anything if you cannot, but perhaps I can... soften the news to the others."

"What is it?"

"Just... how did you live?"

Harry paused. "I arrived in Fieldell only a day ago. I didn't know th- my town was destroyed until then." He sucked in a breath. Why did he say that? What if they ask him about his family, about the town? He'd only stayed there for one night!

Selene's eyes widened. "So it's true? Oh you poor thing. I can't imagine dealing with the sight. Even after we cleaned things up a bit. Oh no, oh no. This won't do. I know Maurius was saying we'd take you in for the night and then send you off in the morning, but as I suspected, you've nowhere to go."

"Actually, I'm looking for-"

"I'll have to convince Maurius. Don't you worry dear, Aunt Selene will have everything sorted out. Now up to Tally you go. He'll do his best to get you healed up." She shooed him towards the built in stairs that lead to the wagon door, and picked up her skirt and hurried away before Harry could get another word out.

Harry bit his lip. He wasn't sure what good claiming he was from the devastated town would be. But perhaps it was for the best. The truth would be a little too outrageous, and it didn't help when he wasn't sure on the details of how he got to Middle Earth himself.

Tally, as it turned out, was barely older than Harry. The boy was crouched in almost darkness, and said nothing when Harry entered the wagon. The interiors were cramped, mostly because of the crates stacked along the walls, though there was walking space if he turned sideways. Tally had a small stool, though he ignored it in favour of leaning his shoulder against a crate in the corner. A single oil lamp sat unlit, on the ground.

Unnerved, Harry cleared his throat. "Hello. Tally?" He assumed this was Tally. There were no others in the wagon, and Selene had been quite firm in leading him here.

"Yes. I heard your conversation, by the way." Tally's voice was soft, and his clear words filled Harry with relief. For a moment he thought perhaps this boy was damaged in the head. "Close the door behind you. You're letting all the light in."

Harry shuffled in and let the door swing lightly shut. The space was instantly flooded with darkness. He reached out his hands and felt along one stack of crates, trying to recall the mental map of his surroundings.

"Better. At least you listen when I tell you to do something. The others. Ha. How do they expect me to create the correct mixtures when the conditions I work in are so horrid?"

A grinding came from Tally's corner so suddenly it made Harry jump. To anyone else, the sound might have sent shivers down their spine, but Harry had suffered through enough potions classes to recognise it as a mortar and pestle.

"Your work is light sensitive?" Harry asked.

"You're fast. Or maybe you've learnt the craft before?" Tally paused, and Harry thought he could feel the other boy's gaze through the inky darkness.

"It was a good guess," Harry said. As much as he'd like to apply the principles of potion making to whatever Tally was doing, so many plants were different in Middle Earth, the magic was different, and he didn't want to explain his knowledge. "But I wouldn't mind learning. I'm looking for someone who might be able to teach me, in fact. A wizard, Gandalf the grey."

Harry had no idea if Gandalf could or would teach anyone anything, but it felt good to get those words out. With the events earlier in the day, he was hoping a fellow wizard could shed some light on his magic as well. As far as Harry knew, teenage boys back in his world couldn't just perform wandless transfiguration by will.

"A wizard?" Tally snorted. "Wizards don't often take to messing with herbs. Theirs is a more flashy skill."

"In any case, do you know where Gandalf might be?"

"I've more things on my mind than keeping track of a wandering wizard. The wizard travels, and we travel. Whatever word we hear of his movements are likely too old to be useful, if you're meaning to catch him."

Harry absentmindedly rubbed the tip of Green-tuft's nose. This put a bit of a dent in his plans. Radagast hadn't mentioned that Gandalf liked to move around. Harry thought he could find a cottage in another forest, or a high tower, perhaps. Somewhere that he could head towards, and reach with time. Chasing after a wizard didn't sound like much fun, especially if Gandalf had the power to move faster than he did. With a sigh, Harry reminded himself that there wasn't many who'd be much slower.

"Are there places he likes visiting?"

Tally stopped grinding his mortar and pestle and let the silence stretch until Harry started to get uncomfortable.

"He frequents the towns in the north, but you seem very intent on finding the Grey. It's not that I don't get it, I do. My family was killed a couple of years ago, but these kinds of things are happening more and more. It's better to be glad those living are still living, and pray fortune continue to stand with us."

Harry took a deep breath, unsure how to respond. Tally talked as if he had resigned himself to be helpless to the wretchedness in the world. "Yet you're a healer," he said.

"Somebody has to be. And don't you have a leg or something you want me to take a look at?"

"Actually, I'm alright," Harry said. "I was limping, and the others thought I was injured. It's just a little sore from the walking." He didn't plan on showing his wound to anyone soon and he doubted Tally's skill at healing would match Radagast. As much as the brown wizard's apathy was infuriating, Harry recognised real skill when he saw it.

"Then why are you still here? You should get some rest. Mother Selene's put her mind to making you stay, so it's likely you'll pass with us over the mountains. There's only two more towns before the crossing. May fortune walk with us this year like the last."

The mountains! The distant peaks, capped in snow, that lay all the while to the west. These... circus folk aim to cross the mountains? And from the sounds of things they'd done it before, possibly every year. Harry shook his head. Perhaps there was a way past the peaks that made the prospect easier than he imagined.

Tally returned to using his mortar and pestle and Harry took that a cue to leave. His return to the gathering at the fire was met with side-long stares and a decidedly noticeable drop in conversation. Maurius was waiting for him, with Selene at his shoulder, a smug tilt to her chin. Randel was lingering in the background, arms folded, keeping a tight watch on things.

"Ahh, Harry, wasn't it? Well, I've been told you'd like to join the Travelling Wonders? Well it's good thing we have a space open for an enterprising young man such as yourself. Tell me, how is your hand at cooking?"

Harry glanced at the man by the fire place, sullenly stirring a large pot. "You already have a cook," Harry said.

The cook scowled. "You bet they do. And I've not heard a single complaint til today, I haven't." He waved the ladle about, still steaming. The people sitting nearby winced. "You know as well as I do I can handle the meals. Have been for three years and an extra pair of hands'll only muddle things up."

Maurius didn't look too surprised. With a hapless shrug, he spread his hands. "Well, sorry boy, guess there's no vacancy-"

Selene cleared her throat. Maurius cut off, looking annoyed. He half turned, as if to say something, but aborted the motion. "Ahh Randel, maybe you have a suggestion for where Harry can fit in our group."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Asking Randel? For all Maurius going on about being welcome, he sure didn't want him to join up. Dinner and then off the next morning, Selene had said. That was certainly turning out to be true.

Randel shot them a poisonous look. "Feed him to the dogs."

Harry glared right back.

"Nonsense." Selene was all sharp smiles and testy sweetness. "I'm sure there'll be something you can help out with, Harry. A young man like you will earn your keep in no time, isn't that right Maurius?"

The owner of Maurius' Travelling Wonders didn't look so convinced, but he nodded anyway. Harry was impressed. For a woman of Selene's age, she sure held great sway with the performers – moved quickly too. She was at Harry's elbow before he could blink.

She reached out to take hold of his arm.

There was no time to get away. Her hands closed just above his right wrist, right where Streak and Shade's entwined tails coiled. They stirred under his sleeve, and Harry watched as Selene's face twisted in confusion. Her hand recoiled, but it was too late.

With a startled hiss, Streak and Shade squirmed out of his sleeve. Harry tried to hide them away, but their frantic movements made even keeping them in his hands a trial.

Selene shouted, stumbling back.

In an instant, Randel was there, sword out and pointed to Harry, pulling Selene back behind him. "I knew he wasn't to be trusted. He tried to attack you, mother. Didn't you see? Get behind me. Men!"

With the order, some of the other armed men unsheathed their swords. The camp around them turned silent. Once again, all eyes were on him.

"No!" Harry cried. "I wasn't trying to do anything. The snakes are my friends. I've had them since they hatched. They're not going to harm anyone. I... I was the son of a snake breeder. But I never had the heart to kill them." Good thing he'd planned out an excuse beforehand, just in case something like this happened. He held Streak and Shade up to his chest while surreptitiously retrieving a couple of his fire starter berries. He wouldn't want to use them, especially against humans, but swords _were _being pointed at him.

Randel narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. What use is a snake breeder in a fishing village?"

Harry scowled. "Not everyone in Fieldell went out on the river," he bit out. "You think every man, woman and child goes and scours the river for fish?"

"I... of course not!" Randel was lost for words.

Harry clenched his teeth to stop a grin. "What's not to believe then? I've had these snakes since they were hatched. They know me. See?" He held a finger up to Streak, who flicked a tongue and then stretched out and curled around it.

Selene pushed Randel's sword arm down. Randel let her, and down it stayed. His forehead creased with a frown, probably trying to poke a hole in Harry's story.

"A snake breeder, you say?" Maurius peered over. "Can you teach them to do tricks?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth, nothing came out. He glanced at all the swords still drawn around him.

"Put those swords away while I talk to the boy!" Maurius waved his hands and offered Harry an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Harry. Some people can be so rude. Now these snakes of yours. Tell me more about your work."

The swords went away, Selene pulled a scowling Randel off to the side, and Maurius beckoned Harry towards the fire. A spot was made for the two of them, and Harry shuffled awkwardly over with his walking stick and his handful of snakes.

Maurius sat first, leaving him a spot next to Dale, the strong man. Harry couldn't help but feel the choice was strategic. He settled down and was dwarfed by the large man to his left. His shoulder only came half way up Dale's arm, and he had a perfect view of his bulging biceps.

The others around the fire were a mix of interest and caution, some leaned forwards and around to get a glimpse of Harry's snakes, and others edging back. Maurius didn't look too worried as he squinted down at Streak and Shade.

"So give us a look, Harry. They're a little small, aren't they?"

Harry blinked. "They do get bigger," he said, thinking to the den in Mirkwood. Those snakes had been as thick as his arm, and Radagast did say the den was a young one. Streak and Shade would probably only curl around his wrist for a little while longer. And then...? Harry hadn't given the Tacrine's size much thought. If they continued to grow, it might become troublesome to keep them with him. He didn't want to leave them behind, either.

"And they are tamed?"

Harry let the Tacrines move from one hand to the other. Tame? He wasn't sure about that. They hadn't even learned to speak yet, and Harry had no way of knowing if he was being heard when he spoke to them. "Not yet. They're not quite old enough." He paused. "Although I do have a third snake who's a better listener."

He reached in to his left sleeve, rubbed Green-tuft's nose and urged for her to come out. She didn't budge, though she wasn't turned to stone either. Just stubborn.

"A third?" Maurius said. "How many do you have? To think none of us realised. Why, you could be covered in snakes and no one would know. And then comes the big reveal, and the start of the performance! Let's see it then!"

Harry tried again to ease Green-tuft out from his sleeve. If anything, she coiled tighter around his wrist. "You told me to stay still, speaker," came an annoyed hiss. "I'm staying still, aren't I?"

Harry pressed his lips together in a thin smile. "She's a little shy," he said to Maurius. "There's a lot of people here."

Maurius raised his eyebrows. "Shy? Well, your snake had better get used to crowds. We'll arrive in Headstead in ten days, a small enough town to get you started." Maurius grinned. "And if you do well, we'll have to update all our fliers. Make new ones, even. Oh, this is so exciting. And you'll have to get a new name, of course, and a stage costume. Oh, and perhaps I should put the word out and acquire some more snakes for you. Three is not nearly enough, oh no."

Harry cleared his throat. "Sorry, but I don't-"

"Nonsense. Selene! Draft up the usual contract, would you? We've a new performer on board!"

"Wait, but-"

"An offer you can't refuse. Twenty percent of your segment's earnings, plus an equal share of the totals. And we include food and board as well, plus injury and death compensation sent to... well, I suppose you wouldn't have any relatives. Never mind that! You'll love it here, Harry, I guarantee it!"

"Yes, that's very reasonable but-"

"We travel the world, meet new and interesting people, earn their money, and do it all over again, It's all due to talent like you, Harry. These lovely companions are who make it all happen. We're a big, loving-"

Randel spat.

"-family! And we sure do love to grow out numbers. Oh yes. Grow our numbers and grow our profits."

"Excuse me!" Harry shouted, banging his walking staff on the ground. Maurius paused, suspended in a ridiculous position, his arms arched over his head as he mimed _profits growing_. "Excuse me," Harry said at a more reasonable volume. "But I don't yet know where you are going. I'd be happy to join, but only if the Travelling Wonders are travelling north."

Maurius raised his eyebrows and lowered his arms. "Well, yes, we're heading north at the moment. Towards Headstead, then Paleberry, then over to the west and on to Jadans Buff, and so on and so forth. We do eventually turn down, though. We're a yearly tour, you know."

Harry nodded. Sure, joining a troupe was a little different from his initial plan, but he couldn't complain. They had wagons! And horses! And men with swords who would hopefully point them away from Harry after he joined. If what Tally said was true and Gandalf did spend more time in the northern towns, then Harry was making progress in his search.

A grin grew on Harry's face. He'd still have to track down the exact location of the wizard, and he'd still have to take care not to reveal his magic, and the Travelling Wonders would still have to cross the mountain ranges, but he was making progress. Anything and everything was better than being trapped in Radagast's cottage.

Harry reached out a hand. "In that case, hand me the contract. I accept."

**&amp;&amp;&amp;chapterend&amp;&amp;&amp;**

**AN: We have names for the two Tacrines! And some accidental but timely petrification! And what do you guys think about Harry being a 'snake charmer?' Hahahaha I thought the idea was hilarious for LotR. He's not going to be one forever, but while he is, he's going to get a stage name. Leave a comment if you've got an idea or I'll be hitting the random name generators. Seriously, I don't want to come up with something lame. **

**Anyway, more magic in the next ch, and more interaction with the circus folk. Thanks for everyone who's reviewed, I'll see you guys next time.**


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